


Driven By You

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Consensual Sex, End of Career of Evil, Explicit Consent, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining, Rape Recovery, Younger Robin, Younger Strike, in leathers, non Canon, on a motorbike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: Neither Cormoran nor Robin had ever acknowledged that they’d met one another long before that fateful encounter on the staircase at Denmark Street.The past was a painful and precious place, so why did she feel such a desperate need to revisit it now, when Strike was, once more, out of her life?





	1. A Painful and Precious Place

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this works. It's not canon-compliant as such and possibly requires some willing suspension of disbelief, but after dwelling on the idea for a couple of weeks I had to get it out of my system. I've never written anything like it before so have tried to make the back and forth between past and 'present' as obvious as possible.  
I've also tried to be mindful in the way I've written about Robin's past, having mercifully never been through anything similar myself.

Neither Cormoran nor Robin had ever acknowledged that they’d met one another long before that fateful encounter on the staircase at Denmark Street. She was afraid he wouldn’t remember her. He was afraid that she’d remember too much, uncomfortable memories that were best left in the past.

Robin hadn’t told Matthew either. Not when he made his endless sarcastic comments about Strike’s leg, or the jealous ones about him wanting to make a pass at her. Not when she’d found out he’d slept with Sarah Shadlock, or even when she’d realised when it had happened.

Robin looked at the clock hanging in her parent’s conservatory as she sipped her steaming coffee. It was 5.15am on her wedding day and no-one else was awake. The past was a painful and precious place, so why did she feel such a desperate need to revisit it now, when Strike was, once more, out of her life?

** _Masham, Autumn 2004_ **

_“Oh my GOD! Dad that was amazing…thank you so much!” Even awash with her own sense of exhilaration and achievement, Robin Ellacott was painfully aware of her father’s reaction to her happiness. Michael Ellacott, a tall, stoic, born-and-bred Yorkshireman in his late forties, was powerless to choke back the tears that filled his eyes at the sight of his daughter’s flushed and smiling face. It had been a long time since he’d seen her look like her old self, like his Robin. _

_The previous twelve months had been like being plunged into a nightmare it was impossible to wake from. Michael and Linda Ellacott had been about to turn in for the night when they received the kind of phone call that every parent dreads but none truly believe they will ever experience for themselves. Robin, their only daughter had been attacked on her university campus, raped and left for dead. By the time they were contacted it was after 10pm, and they had driven through the night to reach her where she was being cared for in hospital. It had been the longest five hours of Michael’s life and when it was over he had no recollection whatsoever of how he had got there._

_The subsequent months had been no better. They had held and supported their daughter through the hours of questioning, invasive tests, statements, police, solicitors, barristers but whilst time may be a healer, it proved, unsurprisingly under the circumstances, a slow one. It had been almost halfway through the autumn term in Robin’s second year of a BSc (Hons) in Psychology when it happened. She had come home to recuperate, ostensibly until after Christmas, but wracked by PTSD, panic attacks and agoraphobia, she had been unable to leave the house, let alone return to university two hundred and fifty miles away. _

_Her symptoms had ebbed and flowed, briefly improving, then taking several steps backwards as the trial had approached. Watching her take the stand had been torture, and neither Michael nor Linda had attended the courtroom to see the accused give evidence. Michael Ellacott was a calm and reasonable man, but he didn’t trust himself to be in the same room as the man who had damaged his daughter so catastrophically. It transpired that he had done it before, more than once. Robin’s acute observational skills – she’d noticed a patch of vitiligo beneath the gorilla mask he wore – and her presence of mind to play dead not only saved her life but saw him sentenced to eighteen years for rape and attempted murder. _

_Since the trial and sentencing, Robin’s mental and physical health had improved in leaps and bounds and today she was triumphant, having completed a day off-roading at a nearby race track. It had been Michael’s idea, and Robin’s older brother, Stephen, had helped him trawl painstakingly through various driving experience websites until they had found one with a female instructor. Now, as he watched her glowing face, he thought about her impending birthday, and whether he might be able to manage something even better._

**London, July 2011**

It was 5.15am and Strike couldn’t sleep, despite having received a significant beating the night before at the hands of Donald Laing and spent several hours subsequently at Scotland Yard. Even the co-codamol he’d washed down with beer and a shot of single malt before taking his prosthesis off and collapsing, fully clothed onto his bed, had not managed to settle his agitated brain.

It wasn’t the case impeding his ability to sleep. Why hadn’t she replied to his texts and calls?

_Because you shouted at her, fired her and she’s getting married today you fucking idiot. _

It wasn’t like Robin though, he knew she wouldn’t hold a grudge. He knew she’d want to hear about how the case was resolved. He knew she’d be thrilled that Brockbank was behind bars at last.

He knew she’d slipped through his fingers before.

He picked up his mobile, scrolled through his contacts and hit ‘Call’. An irritable, groggy, unmistakeably Cockney voice answered.

“Shanker,” Strike’s own voice was weary but determined. “Get dressed, I’ve got another job for you.”

Shanker’s sense of loyalty to Strike knew no bounds. He also knew he’d be handsomely paid for whatever efforts were required of him.

“Fuck’s sake Bunsen, you’d better make this worth my while,” he grumbled. But he was already pulling his jeans on and reaching for his car keys.

_**Masham, 9th October 2004** _

_Robin’s twentieth birthday fell on a Saturday. It was dark, cold and pouring with rain but for the first time in over a year she felt genuinely happy and at peace as she pottered around her parent’s kitchen, filling the kettle and feeding Rowntree, the much-loved family labrador. The significance of the date and the progress she’d been making with her recovery over the last few months gave her a sense that this was the beginning of long-awaited fresh start. _

_Matthew had been unable to make it back to Masham. He was in his final year and had yet another round of exams for his accountancy degree, but that was fine, she was going down to spend the following weekend with him. She’d managed to make the journey on her own by train twice now, making use of the CBT techniques she’d learned, a lavender and chamomile wrist balm and copious amounts of Rescue Remedy. Still she’d done it, and this weekend, she had other plans too… _

_"Morning, love,” Linda Ellacott spoke softly from the doorway. Even in her own home, she knew better than to approach Robin without giving her warning first, “Happy birthday darling.” _

_“Mum,” Robin smiled and stepped into her mother’s warm embrace. They still drove each other mad from time to time, always would, but there was no doubt that what had happened had brought them closer. _

_“Dad and the boys will be down in a minute,” she said, “But I wanted to give you this first…”_

_Robin sat down and opened the package. Wrapped in delicately patterned tissue paper she found a soft, grey leather journal embossed in gold with a semi-colon symbol. _

_I know they’ve talked about journalling in your, and our, groups. You can use it to put your thoughts down if you need to, or better still, maybe to plan your next adventure,” she smiled. _

_“Speaking of adventure,” Michael Ellacott had also appeared in the kitchen, Robin’s three brothers following shortly behind, bemoaning being dragged out of bed at sparrowfart o'clock for something as uninteresting as their sister’s birthday. Michael handed Robin a large, stiff envelope, “This is from all of us.” _

_Robin’s eye’s sparkled with excitement as she tore at the seal and removed and read aloud the printed card within. _

_“5-day military driver training experience at Leconfield?! Bloody hell that’s amazing…sorry mum,” she said sheepishly, before jumping up to hug her dad and brothers. “_

_You’ll get to drive all sorts – Humvee, quad bikes, trucks, even armoured personnel carriers.” _

_"Our very own Tank Girl,” joked Stephen, who once again had helped Michael find the course and was delighted to see his little sister so happy. _

_Surrounded by her loved ones, Robin beamed. This was going to be an excellent birthday._


	2. "Buggering cockwomble!"

**London, July 2011**

“Yorkshire?” Shanker looked at Strike, his face oozing incredulity through the dawn light breaking over Soho.

“That’s the one Shanker, land of puddings, teabags and Wensleydale.”

“Why the fuck do you want me to drive you to Yorkshire at…ah…this is your Robin, right?”

Strike's heart gave a gentle spasm at hearing the way Shanker referred to her, but outwardly he merely shrugged and lowered himself carefully into the passenger seat of Shanker’s somewhat decrepit Jaguar.

“So, Bunsen, you gonna crash the wedding, all heroic like?” Shanker smirked as he pulled away from the kerb, the exhaust issuing a cloud of pale blue smoke as he did so.

Strike didn’t reply. He didn’t know what he planned to do once he got to Masham, he only knew that he had to see her, before it was too late…again.

**Masham 2011**

Linda Ellacott jumped slightly at the figure of her daughter, curled on the cane sofa in the conservatory.

“Robin? It’s 6am, you should be getting your beauty sleep.” She rested her hand on Robin’s shoulder and Robin covered it with her own.

“I’ve been wide awake since before five, mum. I had an early night, I’ll be fine.”

“Is everything ok?” Linda was scanning her daughter’s face for any sign of, well, anything that might indicate what was going through her mind at that point. “I know the last few weeks have been difficult…”

“It’s fine Mum, I’m fine. I might just go back to bed and see if I can catch another hour or two though, okay?”

“’Course love. I’ll pop up with a coffee about half eight? Give you a bit of time to gather yourself. Hairdresser’s arriving at ten.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

Back in her childhood bedroom, Robin didn’t return to her bed, but pulled her dressing table chair over to the tall, pine wardrobe in the corner and gingerly tugged the memory box that resided there down to the floor, where she sat sifting through the contents. School photos, strips of pictures of her and mates as teenagers giggling in photo booths, gymkhana ribbons and programmes, newspaper clippings of school plays and proms and eighteenth birthday greetings, Valentine’s cards from the early days of hers and Matt’s relationship…and there it was, the journal, dusty beneath all the other ephemera, but still immaculate.

She’d only ever recorded a week’s worth of entries before filing it away. She pulled it out and wiped the dust off with her pyjama sleeve, before slowly opening it.

_**Leconfield, 18th October 2004** _

> _Yay! First day of this Military Driving course I got for my birthday... am sooooo excited! Dad’s driving me to this one, but I’m borrowing mum’s car for the rest of the week if I feel up to it (which I will!). Freedom at last!!! _

_Michael Ellacott could barely wipe the grin from his face for the entire duration of the ninety-minute journey from Masham to the Defence School of Transport in Leconfield. Robin was fizzing with excitement and it was contagious. The course had cost a small fortune and the long trip to and from the place wasn’t ideal, but he knew his daughter and was confident that he’d made absolutely the right decision in booking this as her birthday gift, although his wife had taken some convincing. _

_They arrived at Reception on the early side, gave Robin’s name and paperwork over, and sat down to await the arrival of her instructor. Ten minutes passed, along with it the time her lesson had been due to start. Robin saw a look of consternation cross her father’s face and reached over to give his hand a squeeze. “They’re just running a bit late Dad, these things happen. It’ll be fine.” _

_Another five minutes, and a tall man with a hawk-like face and cropped, greying blonde hair appeared and started to approach them. Michael frowned for a second, he looked far too officially dressed to be the instructor, and besides, he’d explained the situation at length over the telephone and they’d given him an assurance… _

_“Captain Alan Williams,” he introduced himself, shaking Michael’s hand and glancing at Robin before taking a nearby seat. Robin thought she detected an air of tension in his features. “Mr Ellacott, I’m afraid I have some bad news. We did try to contact you earlier but weren’t able to reach you, I imagine you must have been driving.” _

_Michael nodded, trying to keep his irritation hidden for Robin’s sake, all this bloody distance for something to go wrong, typical. “What’s the problem?” _

_“I’m afraid Sergeant Phillips – Julia – has been called away suddenly due to a bereavement, so is unable to provide the instruction you’ve booked this morning, or for the rest of the week unfortunately,” he scanned Michael’s face anxiously before continuing, in a lowered voice that nonetheless did absolutely nothing to prevent Robin hearing every word. “We have another member of staff…Royal Military Police so not a driver by profession, but with extensive training and more than qualified to instruct on the vehicles your daughter…” he glanced at her, “Robin, isn’t it…will be driving this week.”_

_Michael’s expression was stony, “And this member of staff…not what I specified I assume?”_

_Captain Williams looked apologetic, “I’m afraid not – it’s a fairly specific skillset and we’re extremely fortunate to have anyone at all who is capable of filling in. Of course, if you’d prefer to reschedule we’d be more than happy to arrange that…” he noted that Michael was looking, if anything, even more tense. “I’ll give you two a few minutes shall I?” _

_Michael nodded grimly and Captain Williams distanced himself swiftly to the glass-walled office that sat behind the reception desk. Robin looked at her father in utter bewilderment. _

_“What on earth is going on? What did you specify?” She looked incredulous._

_“I booked this on the proviso that you’d have a female instructor,” he sighed. “I couldn’t quite believe our luck when they said they had one here to be honest.”_

_“But now she’s not and there’s only a man that can do it…right?” Robin’s lips twisted, “Oh God, don’t tell me you told them about the…about why you wanted me to have a female instructor!” _

_Michael flushed and shrugged apologetically. Robin slumped in her seat. She hated the thought of other people knowing, hated the sideways looks and the pity, hated that over a year later her life was still being dictated by that…fucking arsehole. She’d had enough. _

_“I’m going to do it,” she announced. _

_Michael looked at her, momentarily dumbstruck. “Are you sure? I know it’s been a hell of a journey for nothing but it’s absolutely fine if you’d rather reschedule…maybe rebooking it for the spring would be a better idea anyway?” _

_Robin stood up, “I’m sorry Dad, but I am not going to let that buggering cockwomble keep ruining things for me.”_

_There was a deep sound of someone clearing their throat behind her and Robin spun round, face flushed, ponytail swinging, eyes glittering with barely suppressed fury to meet the clearly amused green eyes of a tall, dark man she guessed to be in his late twenties or very early thirties. He was dressed in full camo over a white t-shirt and extended a hand to her._

_“Robin? I’m Sergeant Strike and I’ll be your instructor for the week.” _

_After reassuring Michael that she would be fine and that he should wait on site for her, she headed off with Sergeant Strike to the unit where the vehicles for civilian courses were kept for her first lesson. It was a fairly lengthy walk and the first couple of minutes passed in tense silence, until, unable to resist any more, Sergeant Strike, spoke. _

_“Buggering cockwomble?”_

_She glanced at him, her long legs easily keeping pace with his speed. He was grinning and had one eyebrow raised and she couldn’t help but smile. He had a kind face, there was something open and inherently trustworthy about it. At least that was one thing she had never had to go through, wondering if she’d misjudged the man who…she’d never seen his face until he was stood opposite her in the dock, not that it would have mattered either way._

_“It’s a long story,” she said simply, “I’d rather not get into it.” _

_Sergeant Strike nodded. Having been roped in at the last minute he knew nothing about whatever circumstances had caused the exchange of words between Captain Williams and Michael Ellacott and didn’t need to. He couldn’t imagine this pretty, feisty young woman being heartbroken over a bloke, but he assumed that was indeed the cockwomble situation she was referring to and was happy to change the subject._

_“No problem, I’m your driving instructor, not your therapist,” he replied, moving on briskly. “Now, do you know anything about the BV206 Haggland? It’s a tracked, articulated, all-terrain carrier which was originally developed for the Swedish Army in 1974…”_


	3. Messages from Matthew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin aces her first military vehicle driving lesson, but messages from Matthew take the gloss off on the drive home as she recalls the events of her birthday weekend just gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're staying in the past for this chapter, although I have tweaked the previous chapters to reflect the books more accurately as it appears I'd slightly miscalculated the timeline! So, it's actually 2004 and Robin has just had her twentieth birthday.
> 
> Once again, whilst I'm aiming for the characterization to be in keeping with the Robin and Strike we know and love, and the overall timescales and circumstances to be much the same as the books, the story itself is not canon-compliant so there will be some bits that don't fit exactly with the originals.

_As soon as the Hagglund began to move, Robin felt the familiar feeling of anxiety creeping over her. The trick was, she knew, to keep it from becoming full blown panic. She began by rationalising the situation in her head, she was on army land with a trained military policeman. People knew where she was and who she was with, it was broad daylight…her brain desperately began clutching at straws…what was that saying? Lightening doesn’t strike twice in the same place._

_I am not going to give in to this…_

_She glanced at Sergeant Strike who was manoeuvring the vehicle to the beginning of the off roading course with considerable skill and ease. She was grateful for his concentration, there was nothing worse than someone else noticing when she was in the middle of a panic attack. Her mum still did sometimes. She would already be trying not to hyperventilate and her mum would notice and ask “Are you struggling to breathe?”. It didn’t help._

_Robin began to very quietly count her breaths, in 1…2…3…4, hold 1…2…3…4, out 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8, whilst simultaneously concentrating on Sergeant Strike’s voice._

_“So, I’ll take you round the off-road course first, which lasts about ten minutes, then we’ll go back to the practise track and I’ll take you through driving the vehicle. Once we’re both happy you’ve got the hang of the controls you can take us back round the off-road track…are you ok?”_

_Bugger, he’d noticed._

_“Fine,” she gave him a thin smile, which she hoped was reassuring, “Just a bit nervous…it’s not quite the same as a Land Rover.”_

_“If you can drive a Land Rover, you can drive this, no problem.”_

_And she could. The fight to keep her panic at bay paid off and as soon as she was behind the wheel herself, all the last vestiges of anxiety evaporated. She took to the controls of the Hagglund effortlessly and was soon on the off-road course, easing the vehicle up and down steep inclines and through water hazards as if she’d been doing it for years rather than a mere couple of hours. At the end of the first circuit she slipped the brake on and turned in her seat to see what feedback she’d get from her instructor and couldn’t help the flush of pleasure that rose in her cheeks when she saw his admiring expression._

_“Impressive,” he smiled, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before? Do you want to go again?”_

_* * *_

_Michael Ellacott had spent an uneasy few hours back in the reception area, trying and failing to engross himself in the latest Peter James crime thriller, and was both relieved and delighted when Robin came back through the door, beaming from ear to ear._

_“She did very, very well,” Sergeant Strike informed him, and Michael felt himself soften slightly to the young man who had so thoroughly incited his protective father instincts three hours earlier._

_“Great, well done sweetheart,” he hugged his daughter, “What is it tomorrow?”_

_“Bedford 4 x 4,” she and Sergeant Strike answered in unison, making them both laugh. Michael urged Robin out to the car of ahead of him, turning momentarily to offer a handshake and a sincere and heartfelt thank you to her instructor._

_* * *_

_Robin was dozing in the passenger seat as her father drove them back to Masham. It had been an early start after a long, busy weekend and after so long virtually housebound she could only manage a certain amount of being out and about before it caught up with her. Thank goodness her next day’s instruction had a later start. She was happily reliving the morning’s driving when her phone buzzed in her pocket, several times in quick succession. She pulled it out and with a sickening twist in her stomach realised the messages were all from Matthew. She paused for a moment before deciding to open and read them – better to get it over with, then she could just chill out when she got home._

_ ** Hi Babe, I just wanted to say again please don’t worry about what happened Saturday night. You’re not ready and I understand. It’s fine. Mxxx** _

_ **I’m more than happy to wait for as long as you need, I hope you know that. Mxxx** _

_ **I love you Rob xxx** _

_She let out a sigh long and deep enough that her dad glanced sideways and asked if she was okay._

_“Fine, just a bit tired.” She closed her eyes and feigned sleep whilst she thought over Matthew’s messages and the events of her birthday weekend._

_She’d arrived in Bath on Friday afternoon, expecting to spend the remainder of the day and evening quietly relaxing with Matthew in his shared house. It was, thanks to a hefty monthly contribution from his parents, probably the nicest student accommodation she’d seen, with all six occupants having spacious double bedrooms with en-suite facilites, plus a large shared lounge and well-equipped kitchen. Instead when he met her at the station he was full of the house party planned for that evening. He saw her face fall slightly and reassured her that he’d planned a quiet and romantic birthday dinner for the two of them the following evening, so she’d plastered on a smile and spent as long as she could bear socialising with his friends, before claiming the long journey had gotten the better of her and heading for his room._

_She’d woken at 1.15am and briefly registered his voice floating up from the open kitchen window which was directly below theirs. She couldn’t make out what was being said but heard an unmistakable peal of female laughter in response._

_Sarah bloody Shadlock._

_Sarah was one of Matthew’s housemates, and dating someone else on his accountancy course, although, thought Robin viciously, you’d be hard pushed to notice given the amount of flirting that she indulged in with virtually every male student who crossed her path, and particularly Matt. Thank God, she reflected, that he was not the kind of bloke to notice her advances, much less act on them._

_The Saturday had started off better at least. They’d slept in and gone for brunch before heading in to the centre of Bath. Having been told in more detail about her birthday dinner, Robin hoped to get herself a new dress but the search proved fruitless. Matthew, who would have much preferred to be in a wine bar watching the rugby, suggested a few outfits in the hope of moving things along, but got increasingly impatient when Robin didn’t agree with any of them. In turn his reaction to every outfit she did try saw her resigning herself to the, admittedly perfectly lovely, outfit that she’d brought with her._

_Robin tried to put his intolerance to the back of her mind as she showered and washed her hair early that evening. After all, Matthew had been so patient with her since the attack, particularly in the way that mattered most. She smiled at the butterflies in her stomach at the thought that tonight she would finally reward him for his patience._

_It was not to be however. They’d had a wonderful meal at Raphael’s, a new and expensive restaurant in the city centre, before heading home slightly tipsy and going straight up to Matthew’s room. Bolstered by three large glasses of wine, Robin had pulled him to her and begun kissing him as soon as they got through the door and he was unsurprisingly, enthusiastic about her advances. They’d stumbled to the bed, undressing en route, but then they’d paused at the critical moment and she’d seen it. That look on Matthew’s face, a combination of pity, nerves and something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The look that, not for the first time, had sobered her up and instantly reminded her of the reason they hadn’t been intimate for over a year, and as soon as she remembered, the part of her that felt like a normal young woman with the man she loved simply shrivelled up and died and she could go no further._

_She’d cried, he’d held her, and they’d slept, mostly. She’d woken in the early hours as she did most nights, to find Matthew’s half of the bed empty, but hearing him apparently pottering in the kitchen downstairs and feeling unable to engage with any further discussion of events, she’d simply rolled over and gone back to sleep. Sunday morning had been tainted by an all-pervasive air of sadness and frustration that they – she – had failed once again at restoring their relationship to it’s former status, and she’d been grateful to get on the early train back to Masham. She’d avoided his calls since, but now she replied simply to his messages._

_ **I know. I love you too. Rxxx** _


	4. "Fuck's sake, Bunsen!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike is feeling overwhelmed on the journey to Masham, and reminisces about those long ago driving lessons to distract himself.

**M1, July 2011**

After a brief stop at the services near Leicester for food, fags and other essentials, Strike and Shanker climbed back into the Jag and continued their journey northwards. They spoke little, Shanker concentrating on the road, Strike immersed in his thoughts. As close as the two men were, emotions, at least outside those relating to the premature and suspicious death of Leda Strike, were not a topic that was up for discussion. Shanker, slightly fed up with the silence but not knowing where to start with picking a safe topic of conversation, turned the radio on, and the music of Passenger filled the car.

> _Well you only need the light when it's burning low_  
_Only miss the sun when it starts to snow_  
_Only know you love her when you let her go_  
_And you let her go..._

Strike, exhausted and pensive, didn’t feel it would be appropriate to object since Shanker was driving.

> _Staring at the bottom of your glass_  
_Hoping one day you'll make a dream last_  
_But dreams come slow and they go so fast_  
_You see her when you close your eyes_  
_Maybe one day you'll understand why_  
_Everything you touch surely dies… _

Matthew’s angry words at the hospital after Robin had been knifed came back to haunt him, “You’re a sociopath, Strike!” As the car and the song progressed, Strike tried to ignore the ache in his chest, the lump in his throat and the dangerous prickle behind his eyes, determinedly chalking them up to his injuries and tiredness. He rested his head against the cool window, closed his eyes and feigned sleep, casting his mind back to the last time he was in Yorkshire.  
  
_**Leconfield, 21st October 2004**_  
  
_ It was the fourth day of Robin’s driving course and Strike was already waiting for her in the car park when she pulled deftly into a space in her mum’s pale blue Vauxhall Corsa, window open, belting out ‘Survivor’ by Destiny’s Child at the top of her lungs. She jumped when she got out of the car and blushed slightly at the realisation that he’d clearly witnessed her loud and enthusiastic singing._

_“Good morning,” he greeted her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward with barely concealed amusement. “Thought we’d crack straight on as the weather forecast isn’t great. I know that’s the point to an extent, but we can get a good speed up with today’s vehicle, and it’ll be much easier and safer to do that whilst it’s still dry.”_  
  
_ For a few moments he didn’t move, his eyes travelling over the young woman in front of him, wondering at how different she seemed from just a few days previously. She was dressed casually in beige combats and a white t-shirt with a thick khaki shirt thrown over the top, her strawberry blonde hair – much longer then - tied back in a plait, and her feet clad in well-worn pair of Timberlands. But there was something else - a confidence about her that hadn’t been quite so apparent on Monday, and a defiant sparkle in her eyes that very clearly communicated that she couldn’t give a toss about the weather forecast._  
  
_ It was his turn to start as she spoke, “C’mon then, let’s go.”_

_On the way to the storage unit, he filled her in on the vehicle they would be driving. “It’s a Supacat, an all-terrain vehicle developed here in the UK for military use. It’s particularly good on sand and has its own water reservoir so we use them a lot in Afghanistan and similar environments. They’ve been adapted in the past for the Paris-Dakar rally as they’re lightweight and capable of much higher speeds that your average military or off-road vehicle. The weight also means they can be slung under a helicopter for transportation.”_

_Now that Robin was used to the off-road practice track, Strike opted to take her straight onto the training track and talk her through the controls first. He’d been thoroughly impressed by how quickly she’d picked up the knack of driving the Haggland, Humvee and Vixen, a stark contrast to the women in his life and their everyday driving abilities. His auntie Joan, having learnt to drive in Cornwall, became flustered if she had to drive more than five miles from home. His sister Lucy was capable enough, but as she never stopped talking, he was never entirely convinced her concentration was where it should be. As for Charlotte…_

_He felt a spasm in his chest and a gentle but definite roll in the pit of his stomach. They’d got back together during his last visit home. Then he’d been sent out to Bosnia for six months, and despite the effort he had put in with emails, even love letters, phoning her at the expense of keeping in touch with his family when he had the opportunity, grand romantic gestures – such as he’d been able to afford – on the birthdays and other occasions that he couldn’t be there for, he had discovered the day before he’d flown home that she’d cheated on him, again. She’d tried, as always, during the course of his time back in the UK, to win him over but he’d had enough. He knew his next posting was likely to be somewhere significantly more dangerous than peacekeeping in Eastern Europe and didn’t want to waste his time playing her games. Instead he’d visited his aunt and uncle in Cornwall, his sister in Bromley and his best friends, Nick and Ilsa, in London. Then he’d set about looking at training and career development opportunities with his usual single-minded determination, hellbent on expunging the memory of Charlotte with her pale skin, mesmeric eyes, jet coloured hair and ability to play him like a violin, once and for all. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d succeeded, but he’d been right about one thing. He was leaving on Sunday, for Helmand Province, Afghanistan._

_“Sergeant Strike…Sergeant Strike? Are we good to go?” Robin’s voice brought him back to the present, she was watching him, waiting for him to respond with a touch of concern on her face. In that moment, he reminded Robin of Stephen, her older brother when he’d split up with his college sweetheart a few months previously, and the words had slipped out before she realised it._

_“Girlfriend troubles? God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Robin was blushing furiously._

_Strike couldn’t help but chuckle at her mortification, which somehow lowered his own defences by a considerable margin. “I was thinking about my ex actually,” he replied, “I was thinking that you are a much better driver!”_

_Robin breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “Right then, let’s get started.”_

_Controls lesson completed, she took the Supacat around the off-road track twice, first slowly, then at considerably more speed. Strike’s comment about her driving skills, not the first compliment he’d paid her that week regarding her abilities behind the wheel, bolstering her confidence even further. On both circuits she was concentrating furiously on the road ahead, but by the time she was halfway around for the second time, she became aware not only of the road and the way its bumps and meanders travelled through the controls to her feet and fingertips, but also of Strike watching her, which made her even more determined to execute the drive as flawlessly as possible. By the time they pulled up, her face was flushed with adrenaline and her neatly plaited hair had begun to work its way loose. She beamed up at him from the driver’s seat._

_“So, how did I do?”_

_“You did great,” he approved, “…but we’ve still got twenty minutes and the weather’s still holding. Do you want another go or we could swap seats and I can show you what this beast is really capable of?”_

_Robin had been watching YouTube videos of the Supacat the previous evening and knew she hadn’t been able to push it to anywhere near it’s limits on one short lesson. She didn’t need asking twice and was out of her seat almost before Strike had finished speaking. They passed each other halfway around the vehicle, just as a massive gust of wind put paid to what was left of Robin’s plait. She shrieked as her hair blew across her face, fingers scrabbling to pull it back out of the way. Briefly reminded of his sister on endless blustery Cornish beaches throughout their childhood, Strike stopped in his tracks. “Here…” his fingers gently caught the silken rose gold strands and steered them back into Robin’s grasp. He put the unexpected thundering of his heartbeat as he did so down to adrenaline from the previous forty minutes driving, and waited as she wound her hair several times into a messy bun and secured it once again with the spare hair elastic she kept round her wrist._

_With Strike behind the wheel of the Supacat, they took off at lightening speed, if not quite managing the top speed of 0-60 in 4.8 seconds, then certainly not far behind. The noise from the hybrid V8 engine was phenomenal as the vehicle careered around the track, the adjustable suspension allowing it to hug the tightest bends and fly effortlessly over substantial bumps and ridges, leaving clouds of pale gold sandy mud in their wake. It was, thought Robin, like a cross between flying and the world’s craziest roller coaster, and she couldn’t help but marvel at Strike’s skill in handling the vehicle at speed over such rough terrain, or prevent herself taking several surreptitious admiring glances as he did so. She smiled to herself as she noticed the concentration on his face, brow furrowed, tongue poking out slightly between his lips. She was admiring the flex of his left bicep and thigh as he simultaneously worked the pedals and caressed the steering wheel around an increasingly complicated set of curves in the track, when a particularly sizeable bump threw them together, causing his forearm to brush against hers and sending the adrenaline levels in her body rocketing higher than seemed possible._

_The track started and ended at the storage unit and as they reached it ten minutes later, the heavens began to open. They both jumped from the vehicle and ran back to the reception office where Robin was parked, not looking at one another until they were safely under the canopied entrance, soaked to the skin and gasping for breath, Robin’s attempt to contain her hair now a thoroughly lost cause._

_“That was…wow!” she exclaimed breathlessly, her eyes bright, skin damp and flushed and hair spilling around her shoulders in a cloud of amber and bronze where some sections were still dry from having been coiled on top of her head. Her khaki overshirt preserved her modesty despite the thorough soaking she’d received, but it didn’t prevent Strike’s unruly imagination briefly going somewhere he knew it really shouldn’t._

_She had brought a spare set of clothes with her and after retrieving them from the Corsa, slipped into the loo to change and tidy her hair, before emerging drier and calmer to finalise the arrangements for the following day, her heart slightly heavy that it would be her last one. She drove home, somewhat dazed by the unexpected thoughts that had crossed her mind during the morning, and that night, much to her surprise, she had dreamt of Strike in a way that most certainly did not remind her of any of her brothers._

**M1, July 2011**

“Fuck’s sake, Bunsen!” Shanker muttered with a snort of laughter and a shake of head. Strike had fallen asleep in earnest and was softly muttering Robin’s name as he dreamt of her and the way she had looked at the end of their lesson that Thursday - skin flushed, eyes bright, hair askew. But in his dream her dishevelled appearance had nothing whatsoever to do with energetic off-roading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done some research into the kind of military vehicles that were in existence in 2004 and that are currently available for civilian driving experience days, however, for this particular chapter the car in question is something of an invention, based on the Supacat brand which have manufactured military vehicles in the UK since 1981, and the Bowler Wildcat. This amazing video of the latter in action is what inspired the description and detail in this chapter, although it wasn't in existence in 2004.  
https://youtu.be/QF80q9jmaC0
> 
> PS - in case you're wondering why we've now gone back in time again to October 2004, rather then November...I have to confess I was a very bad fangirl and got Robin and Cormoran's birthdays back to front. How embarrassing! JKR's tweet re writing about Robin's birthday on Cormoran's birthday totally addled my non-mathematical brain. Hopefully Strike's masterful driving in this chapter will make up for my daft mistake!


	5. Robin's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just short chapter giving some insight into Robin's thoughts on the eve of her last driving lesson.

**Thursday 21st October 2004**

This last few days have been incredible – I can’t believe how much difference the driving course has made to how I feel about everything.

I’m so grateful to Mum and Dad and Matt and the boys for all their patience, but over the last few months it’s been like I’m on a bungee cord, putting everything that happened behind me one minute, and then mum starts fussing, or dad gets overprotective or I see ‘that’ look on Matt’s face and ‘boing’ I’m back to being the-girl-who-was-raped-and-had-a-breakdown, instead of just being Robin.

This week, driving around on my own, spending time doing something I’m good at with someone who doesn’t know what happened has made me feel like the person I really am again. I’ve only realised just how much other people’s reactions are tying me to the past now that I’ve spent time with someone who just sees me as I am without all the baggage.

I know I won’t ever be how I was before, that I’ll have to find a new ‘normal’ that takes into account what happened, but it’s really hard when everyone else is so hyper-aware of it all the time. You know how you wake up the morning after something awful has happened and for the first few seconds everything is ok? It’s like that, only not just in the morning, and you have no control over it because it’s coming from other people. And I can’t tell them that because they are only trying to be helpful and kind and they all love me so much.

I know I’m really lucky, especially with Matt, not many guys would wait like he has, especially at our age. For months I half expected him to find someone else who could give him a physical relationship – I should have known that I could trust him not to be so shallow.

Now I just need to trust him enough to talk to him about how I feel about that side of our relationship. I want to move past what’s happened and to have a physical relationship with him again. I’m not scared anymore, or at least I don’t think I am, but I can’t get past that look on his face every time we try to have sex - pity for me, fear that he’s going to hurt me or trigger something awful. Sometimes he looks even looks guilty, which I guess is because he wasn’t there and couldn’t prevent it happening or magically make it better when it did - that's what my counsellor thinks anyway, apparently it's not an unusual reaction. I don’t feel like my body is my enemy anymore, but I can’t stay in the moment with him when we’re together because I know at some point I will see ‘that’ look on his face and it will remind me that I can never go back to being the Robin I was before I was attacked.

We have to move forward, and to do that I have to find some way of telling him that it’s actually him holding me back, not what happened last year, without upsetting him. I guess that’s why I’m writing this down – to see if it helps me figure out how to do that.


	6. Time to say goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 2004, It's the last day of Robin's military driving course, and a long drive through the country on quad bikes leads to Strike and Robin getting to know each other a little better.
> 
> In 2011, Strike and Shanker hit a tailback on the way to Yorkshire, causing Strike to take drastic action.

**Strike, 2011**

When Strike woke up they were nearing Nottingham with an hour and forty minutes left on the sat nav and a seven mile tailback. The wedding was due to start in an hour and a half.

“Good sleep Bunsen?” smirked Shanker.

“Better than waking up to this shit show.” He was frantically typing into his mobile phone and flicking through the screens. “Right, we need to turn off at the next junction, you’ll have to get across to the left-hand lane and down the hard shoulder.”

“But we’re nowhere near Yorkshire yet.”

“And we never will be if we keep sitting here, now bloody shift!”

**Robin 2011**

Robin had had to leave her journal and memories to one side after a while. Linda had insisted on the family sitting down to breakfast together, although her daughter had merely picked at a pain au chocolat and a handful of strawberries.

“There’s no need to be nervous, love, it’ll be fine,” she reassured her before clearing away the plates and making room for the two young women from the village who were coming to do Robin’s hair and make-up. Robin had showered and washed her hair, returned to the kitchen for Velcro rollers and shellac nail polish in nude pink, and had most of her make up applied. The rollers needed another ten minutes and she had excused herself to her room, saying she needed to check on her arm and make sure she’d packed the brace and antibiotic cream in her hand luggage. She could hear her brothers messing about, fighting for the bathroom and taking the mickey out of one another as they donned their waistcoats and tails, and she heard Martin thanking God she hadn’t insisted on top hats as well. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so instead she picked the journal back up and relived the final day of her military driving course.

* * *

_ **Leconfield, October 2004** _

_“Have you ridden a quad bike before?” asked Strike as they headed out from Reception._

_“I used to. My uncle has a small farm and I rode them there when I was younger, not for a few years now though.”_

_“So, you’re quite confident to get straight out there then? It’s a different track, longer and muddier but there’s a great view from the top.”_

_Robin grinned. “Let’s go.”_

_She was delighted with how quickly riding the quad bike came back to her. Within a couple of hundred metres she was keeping up with Strike with ease. It was a lovely, relaxing way to finish the week’s driving. There had been a storm the night before, but now the air was fresh and clear and the sun was surprisingly warm for October. The climbed gradually upwards through fields and areas of light woodland until eventually they reached the summit, where they sat on their bikes side by side admiring the patchwork of green, yellow and brown fields below, dotted intermittently with trees and farm buildings, small ponds and streams._

_“I’ll miss this,” said Strike. “Not much green involved in my next posting.”_

_Robin turned to look at him. He had been relaxed and confident all week, but now he seemed pensive, even worried. “Where are you…?_

_He cut her off before she’d finished. “Helmand, Afghanistan.”_

_“Oh, wow. Soon?”_

_“Fly out on Sunday.”_

_No wonder he suddenly looked so tense. “Will you see your family before you go?” she assumed he must have some, somewhere._

_“No, they’re in Cornwall, my sister’s in Bromley. I saw them a week or two ago though. To be honest it’s better that way…less intense than doing it just beforehand.”_

_“Hmm,” Robin didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t imagine having to leave her family for six months or more at time for such a precarious situation._

_“You’d think it would be really easy after ten years,” Strike went on, “…and sometimes it is, but Helmand, well, you kind of know it’s the place you’re most likely to not return from, or maybe not in one piece. If it’s going to happen it’ll probably happen there.”_

_“It must be frightening, I don’t know how soldiers do it.”_

_“Training, mindset, I’ve been doing it for ten years and I’m still here. I’m either good at my job or very lucky.” He gave her a weak smile._

_“Bit of both maybe?” she replied, “So tomorrow’s packing day for you then I guess.”_

_“I’m all packed, just a bit of cleaning to do. I’ve been staying at an army friend’s house nearby rather than on the barracks which has been nice, he's stationed in Germany at the moment. Added bonus is that he left me the keys to his Harley with strict instructions to keep her ticking over, so I’ll take her out for a last run tomorrow.”_

_“Lucky you! I’d love to go on a Harley. A friend of my dad’s had one when I was about fourteen and he brought it round. I was allowed to sit on it.” she pulled a disgruntled face and Strike laughed, “I was hoping to go travelling when I…had the opportunity, did you know you can ride round Uluru in Australia on the back of Harley? It was definitely on my bucket list.”_

_Strike looked at her, an expression of surprise crossing his face. “Seriously, how old are you, twenty-ish? What do you mean ‘was’? You can still do it. You’ve got all the time in the world to be whoever you want to be.”_

_Robin smiled sadly, “We’ll see. Had we better start heading back?”_

_Sensing that the conversation was heading into uncomfortable territory, Strike agreed and they set off down the hill back to the driving centre._

* * *

**Strike, 2011**

Shanker looked at Strike, incredulous. “Are you fuckin’ pulling my leg Bunsen?”

“Does it look like it?” Strike was tapping his foot impatiently, credit card already in his hand, “You can drive it, right? You’ve got your licence on you?”

“Well, yeah, but…seriously?”

“It’s the only way we’ve got a hope in hell of beating this bloody traffic, but we need to get a move on, now are you in or not?”

“Well you’re screwed if I say no, ain’t ya, so I suppose it’d better be a yes.”

“Thank fuck for that, now get that helmet on and I’ll go and pay.”

**Robin, Masham 2011**

“Robin, Robin love…your hair needs to come out in a mo, are you coming down.”

“Yeah, two minutes Mum.”

She turned the page and read the remainder of Friday’s journal entry.

> Anyway, when we were saying goodbye and I was thanking him for such a great week, he suddenly asked me if I wanted to go out with him on his friend’s Harley Davison tomorrow. I was gobsmacked, I honestly didn’t have a clue what to say, but before I knew it, I was saying yes! To be honest I felt a bit sorry for him - he's being posted to Afghanistan on Sunday and doesn't seem to have anyone around to spend his last day here with. 
> 
> Feeling really nervous now. I’m not worried about Strike (actually his name’s Cormoran – after a Cornish giant, hahaha!), it’s just been such a long time since I’ve done anything spontaneous, but I could hardly turn down the opportunity to ride a Harley, even if it is only pillion. I hope Matthew doesn’t make a fuss – I’ll probably tell him tomorrow evening, after I’ve done it, he’ll only worry otherwise. Just as well Mum and Dad are away over the weekend at Auntie Marion’s 50th. Stephen is planning on sneaking off with his new girlfriend once the coast is clear and Martin and John are oblivious to my existence. Not sure I’m going to sleep tonight – eeeek! 😊😊😊


	7. Wonderwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 2004 and Robin and Strike enjoy a day out on the North Yorkshire coast.
> 
> Not content with putting him in motorbike leathers for the duration of this chapter, I've also given him a guitar, inspired by a comment I saw from someone on Tumblr the other :)

_ **Saturday 23rd October 2004** _

_When Strike woke on the Saturday morning, he was relieved to see that the weather was fine and sunny. They’d planned to cover a lot of miles today. He wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him when he’d asked Robin Ellacott to join him for a day out on his friend’s motorbike. It was unlike him to blur any boundaries between his professional and personal life, although it was, of course, just a day out, albeit with a fascinating, pretty, young woman who was surprisingly something of a petrolhead._

_Strike wasn’t one for feeling lonely - he had always enjoyed his own space, but he’d felt somewhat isolated throughout much of his recent time back in the UK, partly through circumstances, partly of his own choosing. He’d enjoyed Robin’s company this week and in many ways she reminded him of his best friend from Cornwall, Ilsa Herbert. They were, as far as he could tell based on knowing Robin for just five days, similarly open, straightforward, kind and funny. He wasn’t totally oblivious to the fact that Robin was a very pretty girl, albeit a bit on the thin side and, he reminded himself sternly, ten years his junior. He tucked those particular thoughts to the back of his mind and resumed checking over the bike, which hadn’t been out of the garage for a few weeks._

_* * *_

_He heard her before he saw her, the now familiar beat of Destiny’s Child emanating faintly from the car as she pulled up beside the little terraced cottage._

_“Morning,” he smiled at her as she got out of the car, rounded up her phone and a bag from the boot and made her way over. He was pleased to see she was appropriately dressed, he knew plenty of women who wouldn’t have considered the practicalities or potential safety issues of suitable clothing for motorbikes. She had the indigo blue jeans on with Timberlands again, and was wearing a dark green parka, with a thick pale pink scarf wound round her neck, trailing ends tucked neatly and safely inside her jacket. For a moment he considered that if only she was a few years older, if only he wasn’t leaving tomorrow, he would have been tempted to see if there was any possibility of their relationship extending beyond a few driving lessons and a trip to the North Yorkshire coast for fish and chips._

_She held out a bag to him. “Will that fit in the box? I’ve bought a flask of tea and some fat rascals for when we get to Flamborough.”_

_Well prepared too, he thought, thanking her as he tucked them away and handed her a helmet and pair of leather riding gloves. He didn’t notice the slightly flustered look on her face as she cast her eyes over him in his snugly fitting leathers. He wore jeans normally, but he’d always fancied giving them a try and now the weather was getting cooler leathers would be less uncomfortable and sweaty than in the summer months. Besides, they were the more sensible option for a long ride._

_“Okay Robin, have you ever rode pillion on a bike before?”_

_“Not unless you count my brother’s BMX,” she laughed._

_“Right, so before we get started, these are the parts of the bike that will get hot once we’re driving,” he pointed to the exhaust and a handful of other parts, “No reason that should be an issue, you just need to be mindful of them when you’re getting on and off.”_

_He showed her how to mount using the rear foot pegs, where to hold on and warned her against fidgeting unnecessarily, particularly when the bike was slowing down._

_“The most important thing to remember is that you don’t get to relax and let me do all the work,” he grinned, “You need to keep an eye on the road ahead, stay close at the seat, but not the upper body – we don’t want helmet clash - and mimic my movements when we're taking bends and corners. If we don’t move together there’s a greater risk of the bike toppling, okay?”_

_“Roger that.” He snorted with laughter at her response, nonetheless impressed that after a fairly strict pep talk she looked more, rather than less, enthusiastic. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes, just excitement. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such inherent respect for a woman he had known for such a short time._

_“Last thing - if you need me to pull over for any reason, two firm taps on my right shoulder.” She nodded._

_“Right, let’s go.” Strike straddled the bike with ease, holding it steady whilst she climbed on the back and positioned herself comfortably behind him. He tried not to register the feeling of her pelvis fitted against his backside or her thighs hugging his hips as he kicked the bike to life and they set off for the coast._

_* * *_

_It took them an hour to reach Flamborough Head, where they found a car park and took a bathroom break before heading down the cliff steps on to the beach with the flask and scones that Robin had packed. Strike compared the coastal scenery to that of St Mawes, where he had spent much of his childhood. Robin confessed that she’d never visited the place before, the beach days of her childhood tending to take place further north at the popular resort of Scarborough. As they packed up their mini picnic, Robin found herself battling with the lid of the flask. She’d taken off the leather driving gloves and her cold fingers were making her fumble. Strike took the flask from her, discounting the shock of electricity that hit him as his fingers brushed hers, and deftly finished the job. He glanced at her covertly, trying to see if there was any indication that she had felt it too, but if she had there was no outward sign, apart from the flush on her cheeks, which he was certain must simply be down to the cold sea air._

_Strike had no intention of allowing his wayward thoughts to hinder his driving abilities, but once they hit a particularly straightforward stretch of road, he couldn’t help but wonder what had come over him in the last twenty-four hours. He’d warmed to Robin instantly on Monday and immediately noticed that, in abstract, she was far from unpleasant to look at but thought no more of it. Besides she was too young, he was leaving tomorrow, he had no desire to get into a new relationship and based on her previous 'buggering cockwomble' comment he assumed that she not long gotten out of one. Inviting her out yesterday had been completely spur of the moment, the question leaving his mouth almost before he’d thought it. He was fairly sure if he had thought about it he would have said nothing and been spending today alone. Since she’d agreed to join him, he’d barely stopped thinking about her, despite his best attempts to distract himself which had reached a critical point in the shower the previous evening when he’d had to end his ablutions with strong blast of cold water to prevent his imagination going somewhere it had absolutely no business exploring._

_Once again, he turned his attention to all the ways in which Robin reminded him of Ilsa, who had been like a second sister to him since they were six years old. That was it, he thought, and his mind was simply playing tricks on him because he was anxious about the new posting and it had been a while since he’d…yes, that was definitely it. As they left the main road for a smaller, prettier coastal route, he was thankful to have something else to concentrate on._

_* * *_

_Whitby was pretty and bustling. Still full of tea and fat rascals, Robin and Strike took some time to wander around the ruined abbey that had inspired the story of Dracula, and popped into the Captain Cook and Lifeboat museums before lunch. At The Magpie Café they ate fish and chips and sticky toffee pudding, washed down with local ale for Strike and traditional lemonade for Robin. They walked back via the town centre to where they had parked the motorbike, window shopping as they went, until Robin stopped short. “Do you mind if we pop in here for a minute,” she indicated Whitby Music Shop, which had a display of musical toys and books in the windows alongside sheet music, instruments and flyers for the local music festival which was taking place that weekend. “My cousin’s just had a baby and her other half is a music teacher, I think they might appreciate something from here as a present.”_

_Strike held the door open for her as she walked through, surprising Robin who was not used to such treatment from the young men she knew, however nice they were in general. She was impressed and faintly embarrassed by even this small display of chivalry and felt herself blushing slightly, so made her way swiftly over to the section of the shop she wanted to look at it. She was trying to decide between a soft crocheted ball with a jingling bell inside, or a pair of tiny wooden maracas to go with the bib covered in musical notes she’d selected, when she heard the opening bars of ‘Wonderwall’ from across the room._

_If she’d been surprised by Strike’s old-fashioned manners, she was even more taken aback by this new discovery that as well as driving all manner of vehicles, he could play the guitar. He was bent over the pale wooden acoustic, tongue poking between his lips in concentration as he strummed the chords gently, his fingers moving seamlessly up and down the frets. Robin felt a shimmering jolt of something that she barely recognised…lust, followed swiftly by guilt that she shouldn’t be feeling that way about anyone other than Matthew. It was compounded further by the rapid realisation that she hadn’t given her boyfriend, who was studying hard in Bath for his accountancy exams, a single moment’s thought since she’d woken up that morning._

_Strike had become aware of her watching him early on in his ‘performance’, and now he finished the final bar with a flourish and looked up to meet her eyes, smiling at her reaction._

_“That was…unexpected,” she smiled back. “I didn’t have you down as the musical type.”_

_He shrugged. “I’m not really. I went through a phase in my teens when I dabbled a bit, then again when I joined the army…something to do in the desert.” He gave a rueful chuckle, “I thought I might have inherited some natural ability…” he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth._

_Robin saw a flicker of something cross Strike’s face. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was but suspected that for some reason it wasn’t something he was interested in elaborating upon. “Well, you’ve definitely got some ability, wherever it’s from,” she paused, “I’m just going to pay for these and then we’d best get going?”_

_“Yeah,” he sighed as he replaced the guitar on its stand, “I’ll meet you outside.”_

_They headed back to the bike, discussing the route they planned to take home and whether to stop for a break on the way. It was a ninety-minute ride, then Robin would have a similar journey home so they decided to see if they could do it in a single run. They donned their helmets and gloves, and once more Strike held the bike stable for Robin to get on and waited for her to get comfortable._

_“Hang on a minute…sorry,” he could feel her fidgeting behind him._

_“You okay?”_

_“Yeah, shoulders are just a bit stiff from all the holding on in one position, I’ll be fine.”_

_He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder and saw her wince slightly. “Hold onto me.”_

_Her eyes met his, uncertain. “Are you sure?”_

_He reached around for her hands and pulled her arms around his waist. “A comfortable passenger is a safe passenger. There, is that better?”_

_“Much, actually, thank you.”_

_“No problem.”_

_As they headed out of Whitby on the A169, Strike was no longer quite sure where his own feelings sat on the comfortable spectrum._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for the lovely comments since I posted the previous chapter last night. Of the two fics I'm writing at the moment, this was the one I felt more strongly about writing in the beginning, but I'd fallen out of love with it and have been struggling to motivate myself for the last week or so.
> 
> The feedback has really spurred me on and this chapter has been an absolute pleasure to write.


	8. "Oh BUGGER!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2004: Robin and Strike prepare to say their goodbyes after their day out on the Harley,

_ **Robin and Strike, October 2004** _

_Robin couldn’t help but reflect on the previous week and her current situation as the Harley undulated its way through the country roads back to Strike’s place. She had been blessed with the most wonderfully supportive, close knit family, a gentle, patient boyfriend and a clever, caring therapist but it had taken a man she had known for all of six days to break through whatever it was that had built up inside her since the attack._

_After it had happened she’d only been able to associate physical contact with pain and fear. She’d watched the hurt in the eyes of the people she loved as she flinched away from them, powerless to control her reactions. As time had moved forward, with counselling and gentle persistence she had re-learnt to associate touch with comfort and reassurance. For some time now she had wanted to move past that too, but with comfort and reassurance came pity, and with pity came the inexorable sensation that she was no longer the Robin she had been, and she so very desperately wanted her back. She wanted to be the resilient, fearless, open young woman from before with a whole life to live, a healthy mind and a strong body to use and enjoy. Her attacker had stolen all of that from her, and try as they might her family, friends, therapist, Matthew – none of them had been able to give her that back, because none of them saw her now as just Robin. It wasn’t their fault and they tried their best, but they simply couldn’t separate the person she was with what had happened to her._

_Strike, in six short days, had won her trust and given her his respect. She had seen the way he’d looked at her when she’d handled those military vehicles over rough terrain, when she’d overtaken him on the quad bike, when she’d screamed with pleasure rather than fear as he’d taken them at speed round the track in the Supacat. He didn’t make her feel like ‘damaged’ Robin or even the ‘old’ Robin. He made her feel like a brand new, improved Robin – strong, capable, respected and able to take on the world. Sitting behind him on the Harley, her slim thighs tucked against his leather-encased hips, her arms around his firm torso, for the first time in over a year she didn’t associate physical contact with fear and pain or with comfort. With Strike, it meant safety and freedom, and to Robin, that meant everything._

_* * *_

_They made good time back to the cottage, much to Strike’s chagrin. It had already been a long day, but if he was honest, he didn’t want it to end just yet. He couldn’t deny that there was an element of physical attraction for him as far as Robin was concerned, but he was more than capable of rationalising that with a quick mental checklist of the difference in their ages, the circumstances of their meeting and the fact that he would be leaving the country tomorrow for at least six months. It was probably that latter that caused his reluctance to end what had been a truly fantastic day, he reflected, with great company and absolutely no stress – a far cry from the inevitable performance that would no doubt have accompanied a day out with Charlotte. He knew that, try as he might, once Robin left he would be left to face his fears about his upcoming posting, with nothing but the ghost of his ex-girlfriend for company. It was not an appealing thought._

_“There we go then,” Robin’s voice brought him back to the present, as she handed him the helmet and gloves, and he returned her flask, “I’ve had a lovely time – thank you for asking me to join you.”_

_“It’s been an absolute pleasure,” he smiled back. “Take care won’t you and have a safe journey home.”_

_“I will, and you look after yourself…you know…out there.”_

_“Roger that,” he quipped back, giving her a quick salute and a cheeky grin as she threw her bag and flask in the back of the car, and checked her mobile phone._

_He drew out the process of putting away the gloves and helmets and checking the bike over so he could surreptitiously watch her leave. She paused halfway into the driver’s seat, fingertips flying over the mobile’s keypad._

_“Oh BUGGER!” He looked up, recognising her favourite expletive, uttered with perhaps more force than he had heard it all week._

_“Everything okay?” He heard her sigh from the opposite end of the drive._

_“Bloody battery has just run out. My mum’s messaged me about four times since we left Whitby…they’re away for the weekend and she…she’s a bit of a worrier.” She felt obliged to offer some kind of explanation for the extent of her reaction, even if she wasn’t willing to disclose the truth regarding the reason for her mum’s anxiety where her only daughter was concerned._

_Strike had made his way to the car and could see that she had a similar type of phone to his own. “She’ll be even more worried if you can’t call her for another hour and half. I’ve got a charger that should work if you want. Plug it in for a bit and have a cuppa before you head off?”_

_She looked at him and began to nod her head in agreement, but he noticed a slight hesitation. Of course, it was a bit weird him inviting her in for a cuppa when they barely knew each other._

_“Or, I can pop it on charge for you and we could walk to the pub at the end of the lane and have a quick drink there if you’d rather.”_

_She smiled with relief. “That would be great, if you don’t mind.”_

_“No problem,” he took her phone, quickly went indoors to set it charging, and returned swiftly to where she was waiting, leaning up against the Corsa. Having seen her flustered reaction to his holding the music shop door open for her earlier, he couldn’t resist extending an arm, “Shall we?” he invited, and she smiled, blushing a little, and tucked her arm through his as they set off for the pub._

_* * *_

_They passed a companionable forty minutes over a pint of pale ale and a ginger beer before Strike noticed Robin checking her watch. “Shall we go back and see if that phone’s charged,” he suggested._

_Robin flushed, embarrassed by the fact she’d been caught clock-watching and feeling hemmed in again by the weight of the expectations and neuroses of others. “Sorry, I just don’t want her getting in a state, it’s no fun for either of us.”_

_“You don’t need to apologise for showing concern for a parent. It’s a good thing that your mum cares and that you appreciate that,” he looked wistful, “You’re very lucky.”_

_“Do you wish you’d gone back to Cornwall before leaving?” she asked as they headed out into the now drizzly dusk, assuming the family he’d referred to there included his mother. His lips twitched in the dark. What was it about Robin that was so disarming he found himself telling her things that some of his closest colleagues didn’t even know?_

_“My mum’s not in Cornwall,” he replied. “She died, when I was about your age.”_

_“God I’m so sorry,” Robin’s hand flew to her mouth, “Talk about putting my foot in it.”_

_“You weren’t to know. It’s my Uncle and Aunt in Cornwall, I spent a lot of time with them growing up – they’re my family, and Lucy, my sister in Bromley.”_

_They continued in silence the last couple of hundred yards to the cottage, by which time it had started to rain in earnest. Arriving at the door, Strike automatically opened up and ushered Robin inside, not remembering until they were shucking off their wet coats in the hall her reluctance earlier. He snuck a look at her but she seemed fine._

_“It’s in the kitchen if you want to come through.” She followed him into the small kitchen, fitted with scrubbed pine units and a black and white tiled floor and he handed her the phone. Sure enough, as she switched it on it came noisily to life with more missed calls and messages._

_“Sorry, do you mind if I…” she nodded her head in the direction of the sitting room._

_“Sure, tea?”_

_She smiled up at him. She was here now, without even thinking about it, and she’d probably need to gather herself before driving home after the bollocking she was no doubt about to get from her mum. “Please.”_

_He tried not to eavesdrop as he made the drinks, but he could tell from the contrite, then increasingly exasperated tone of Robin’s voice that her mum was giving her a hard time and wondered how strange that must be at her age, she was an adult after all. But then his own mum, whilst loving, had completely lacked the capacity for that level of concern throughout his entire childhood, albeit out of a childlike optimism that nothing bad would ever happen rather than an actual lack of caring. How very wrong she had been._

_As he entered the sitting room, he switched on the lamp and the flame effect gas fire. He saw that Robin had placed the mobile face down on the coffee table and was sitting with her head in her hands. Her plait, which had been working its way loose throughout the afternoon, had disintegrated entirely and her shoulder length hair was spilling in soft coppery-gold waves over her shoulders. She rubbed her face, looked up and sighed as he placed a mug of tea in front of her, moving slightly sideways on the sofa, which was the only seating option available apart from an ancient, precarious and decidedly uncomfortable rocking chair the other side of the hearth. He sat and tilted his head on one side sympathetically, waiting for her to speak, as he did when he was interviewing someone as part of his job._

_She swallowed hard and took a deep, shaky breath. “She has her reasons, good ones,” she paused, “Doesn’t make it any easier to live with sometimes.”_

_Despite her best efforts, a single tear breached her eyelid, glittering gold in the firelight as it slid down her cheek. Instinctively, Strike reached up to brush it away with his thumb, his fingertips catching in a wayward wisp of hair as he did so. He tucked it gently behind her ear and was about to reluctantly remove his hand when he realised she was watching him intently, her lips slightly open, breathing fast and shallow. His eyes locked with hers and the deafening thunder of his heartbeat drowned out the screaming of reason as instead of pulling away he tangled his fingers in the soft hair behind her ear and pulled her face, and lips to his._


	9. Carpe Diem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cormoran and Robin's first 'first time'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really need to tell you what's coming next do I?! ;)

_It was the softest of kisses, their lips clinging together for just a few seconds before parting slowly, reluctantly, leaving them both breathless. Strike looked at the extraordinary young woman in front of him, her cheeks flushed, dilated pupils turning her storm blue eyes into limpid whirlpools, and that incredible hair. He realised with a start that his fingers were still tangling with several strands of silken copper, even as he tried to make sense of the situation. He had promised himself this wouldn't happen, but he hadn't known quite how much he wanted it to until it had. Still, he removed his hand from her hair and spoke, quietly._

_“I'm leaving the country tomorrow.”_

_Her gaze was unfaltering. “I know.”_

_“I can't offer you a relationship or...anything, I just...”_

_“I know.”_

_She reached up to touch his face, fingers cupping his jaw as she traced first his full lower lip, then his scarred upper lip with her thumb. He took her hand in both of his and pressed a succession of feather light kisses to her fingertips._

_“What is it you want Robin?” he whispered._

_“You,” she replied, simply._

_She must, he thought, have seen the brief glimpse of uncertainty on his face because she suddenly leaned forward to kiss it away, her mouth more insistent this time. As she tentatively stroked the tip of her tongue between his lips and into his mouth, Strike heard a soft groan and realised vaguely that it was his. Then his hands were in her hair once again and he was returning the pressure of her lips with a scarcely restrained hunger that made her whimper with pleasure. Whether it was seconds or minutes later that they came up for air, neither of them could say, but Strike knew he had to regain some control over the situation, not to mention his libido which, having had no outlet for several months was making its presence very much known. He hoped that she hadn’t noticed…yet. He needed to know that she was sure._

_“Robin,” he saw the expression of frustration flicker across her face, “Look, I’m sorry but this is a bit unexpected…not in a bad way. God, you are so beautiful…”_

_“Then what’s the problem?” She was getting impatient._

_Strike mused that this was no surprise, he’d watched her irritation when she didn’t pick things up as quickly as she though she should during the driving lessons._

_“Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”_

_She tried to make light of the direction the conversation was taking, “Seriously, have you seen yourself in those leather trousers?” she smiled. "You’re off to Afghanistan tomorrow, a little spontaneity wouldn’t go amiss.”_

_He sat up a little straighter, backing away slightly, eyebrow arched “So this is a ‘sorry you’re off to a war-zone shag’ then?” He hoped she’d notice the quirk of his lips and see that he meant it as a joke._

_Silence surrounded them. Strike cursed himself for saying the wrong thing, braced himself for her to walk out. Instead, after an agonising pause, she pulled him closer, trapping one of his knees between both of hers. He couldn’t fail to notice her sharp intake of breath as she rested her hands on his thighs and registered the sensation of firm muscle under soft, warm leather. He closed his eyes briefly as he felt his cock stiffen further._

_“Can it not just be an ‘I like you, you like me, carpe diem’ kind of thing,” she said softly._

_He opened his eyes and saw her watching him shyly, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she waited for his response, and in that moment he was gone._

_“God yes,” he leaned back on the sofa pulling her with him so she was straddling his thigh, his left arm wrapped round her waist, holding her steady as his right hand cradled her head, bringing her lips to meet his again with searing intensity until an image of her bashful expression and lip-biting shot into his head along with a reminder that she was only just twenty and…_

_“This…” he paused, not sure how to ask, entirely unsure if he wanted to know the answer, “This isn’t your f…”_

_She snorted as she finished his sentence, “First time? No…” He waited patiently, “It’s been a while though,” she admitted, quietly._

_A surge of relief ran through his body. As much as he wanted her, he had his boundaries, and taking someone’s virginity then fucking off overseas the following day on a job he might not come back from was definitely one of them._

_He leaned forward to kiss her, his lips talented and teasing, first on her mouth, then across her cheek and along her jawline, revelling in the sound of her breathing becoming increasingly ragged. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist once more, tucked the other securely under her backside and stood, taking her with him, her long legs twining instinctively around his waist._

_She felt his breath hot on her ear as he murmured huskily, “I’d best make sure it was worth the wait then,” and carried her effortlessly up the stairs._

_***_

_Strike headed straight for the spare bedroom rather than the master that he’d been sleeping in which was due for change of bedding. It would mean an extra last-minute wash load in the morning, but it seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do. He lowered her onto the bed, flicked on the lamp and drew the curtains before returning to her side, where they lay for several minutes, kissing as if their lives depended on knowing the exact contours and textures of one another’s mouth off by heart. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent that long simply kissing a woman, without the removal of clothing and other body parts becoming involved to at least some degree. With Robin he found he was more than content to take things slowly, to the extent he was almost shocked when he felt the touch of her cool fingertips working their way beneath the hem of his t-shirt to the warm skin of his waist and back._

_He pulled her closer to him and heard her groan of arousal as she felt how hard he was. Rolling her slightly on to her back he propped himself up a little to free his hand, allowing him to watch her face as he explored the subtle undulations of her body beneath its coverings of denim and lambswool. The pale pink sweater she was wearing was finely knit and he could see the outline of her nipples pushing against the fabric, straining for his touch. He splayed his hand around her waist allowing his thumb to caress the lower curve of her breast, burying his head in her neck and gently kissing the tender flesh there as he moved his thumb inexorably closer. He waited until he heard her whimper with need before brushing it lightly across the straining peak, watching with satisfaction as his touched caused her back to arch off the bed._

_Her hands were increasingly persistent beneath his t-shirt now and he sat up a little to remove it, savouring the way Robin's eyes were roaming blatantly over his toned torso, pupil's dilating impossibly further as she took in the stretch of dark hair that tapered into the waistband of his leather trousers. He slowly eased Robin’s sweater up, allowing her ample opportunity to protest should she wish, and pulling it over her head. The action caused a surge of static and her hair flew out and then settled on her pale shoulders._

_Backlit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Strike thought to himself that he’d never seen a woman look quite so much like an angel, and his intention was to worship her for as long and as thoroughly as she would allow._


	10. Carpe Diem...Part 2

_He gathered her into his arms, desperate to feel her skin against his own, his hands roaming over her back, around her waist, gently cupping her breast which made her arch against him again. He reached round for the fastening of her bra, briefly breaking their kisses to check that she was as keen to take things further as he was, and felt her hand twist behind her and beneath his own to swiftly undo the clasp herself, allowing him to slip the straps down her arms and shoulders and remove the garment himself. He looked at her spellbound, for several seconds, eventually tearing his eyes away from her perfect body to meet her gaze, knowing that she would be able to see in his face how much he wanted her. What caught him by surprise, was seeing the same need reflected back as she reclined against the pillows, inviting him to make the next move._

_He skimmed his fingertips over her collarbone, down the hollow between her breasts and over the softly curving arc of her stomach, following the pathway he drew with his lips, tasting the warmth of her skin. His mouth continued back up her body, his lips and tongue swirling over each of her breasts in ever decreasing circles until he reached her nipple and took first one, then the other into his hot, wet mouth, sucking languorously._

_The sounds of pleasure that Robin was making reverberated through his ears and brain and continued down his spine, causing him to swell uncomfortably against the zip of the leather trousers, making him groan in sweet agony. And then her hands were on him and he was powerless to resist her touch, pushing his hips against her deft fingers as she worked the fastenings open, whilst still maintaining the rhythm of his mouth on her breasts. He felt her thumbs pushing at his waistband and rolled back momentarily to remove them. Robin wasted no time in continuing her ministrations, but he caught her hand and brought it to her mouth, tenderly kissing her open palm before working his way up her arm to her shoulder and then her lips._

_“I’m not going to be able to make this worth waiting for you if you carry on like that,” he whispered, deep green eyes twinkling down into hers._

_“What if I don’t want to wait?”_

_His eyebrow twitched suggestively. “Why don’t I try and convince you of the virtue of patience.”_

_He silenced any further discussion with a searing kiss whilst slowly undoing her belt and jeans, slipping his hand below the waistband and round to her backside to pull her closer. She responded immediately, lifting her hips from the bed to allow him to pull them free so she could kick them over the side of the bed. His hand drifted upwards from her ankle, floating softly, slowly to the top of her thighs, coasting over her plain, black cotton knickers and coming to rest on the elastic of the waistband. He waited for her almost imperceptible nod before slipping his hand inside and slowly parting her lips with a gentle finger, sliding it slowly back and forth against her swollen clit._

_“Oh, my God that feels amazing,” she breathed._

_“Good,” he whispered against her mouth, “I’m only just getting started.”_

_He helped her to wriggle out of her underwear, allowing him greater freedom of movement so he was able to continue touching her whilst covering her body with kisses, moving lower and lower until his lips were brushing across her stomach and she felt his breath hot at the crease of her thigh. He heard her sharp intake of breath and looked up from his position with his head almost between her thighs to see her shocked expression as she gazed down at him, flushed and panting slightly. His eyes flicked towards her mound._

_“Okay?” he queried, his voice coming out several degrees deeper then even he was anticipating._

_“Um…I…erm…” Robin was clearly more than a little taken aback and he immediately pulled himself up the bed and kissed her softly._

_“It’s fine, not your thing, it’s ok,” he soothed. She didn’t seem upset, but she was definitely flustered, which hadn’t been his intention at all, or maybe it had, but only in a good way._

_“It’s not that,” she whispered, and he could feel her cheeks burning beneath his lips, “I just don’t know…”_

_“Don’t know what?” he looked at her quizzically._

_She swallowed hard. “I don’t know if that…” her eyes flickered downward, “…is my thing or not because I’ve never…no-one’s ever…” she was blushing furiously now and Strike didn’t know which bodily reaction to fight off first, the urge to cum on the spot, or the almost irresistible and extremely naughty grin that was threatening to sweep over his face._

_“Oh,” he replied, “Oh, I see.”_

_There was a tension-filled pause, before, in the absence of any further response, he continued, “Would you like to find out if it is your thing, Robin? Because if you’ll let me, I would absolutely love to go down on you.”_

_He immediately covered her mouth with a crushing kiss, relieving her of the pressure of having to give an immediate answer, whilst praying to any god who might be listening that she would reply in the affirmative. When she’d said earlier that it had been a while, he had promised her that he’d make it worth the wait, and he was well aware of his particular skill set in the bedroom. When he broke the kiss, she was looking at him, eyes glittering with a mixture of nerves and anticipation._

_“I think I would like to find out…please.”_

_Being something of a gentleman, Strike resisted the temptation to return immediately to her pussy and instead kissed her again, achingly slowly, his lips almost hovering over hers to begin with before his tongue traced each of her lips, parting them gently as he increased the pressure of his mouth. His hands were on her breasts, caressing, stroking and pinching her pale pink nipples into hard, dusky peaks and he did his best to consign to his memory every gasp, moan and whimper of pleasure he managed to elicit._

_His mouth continued down her body until he was back to where the conversation began, and his warm hands stroked up her thighs, pushing them gently aside so he could gain access to her centre, his thumbs parting her glistening lips as the tip of his tongue slowly traversed her slit from bottom to top, ending with a light flick across her clit._

_“Holy shit!”_

_Strike smiled against her and continued his mission, working up and down her outer lips, carefully avoiding her most sensitive places until she was writhing against him, silently begging for the feel of his mouth on her. He swirled softly into her, groaning huskily at her taste and enjoying her echoed response to the sound of his pleasure. Laving upwards until he found her swollen clit again, he traced circles around it, his thumb at her entrance, pressing gently, opening her up to him. He could hear her getting closer, and in a split second of clarity wondered how the hell he was managing to stay in control of himself, surrounded as he was by the scent and taste of her, his face cradled by the warm, damp softness of her thighs, his ears full of her cries of pleasure with a few surprising expletives thrown in for good measure. He felt a tell-tale flutter and knew she was on the edge, but her voice confirmed it._

_“Please, Cormoran…please…god, I’m so close…”_

_He slipped his thumb inside her, sliding it rhythmically in and out as his lips enveloped her clit, sucking her firmly into his mouth and into contact with his flickering tongue. Her hips bucked and shuddered, and he couldn’t resist opening his eyes and watching her cum for him, his name splintering into fragments on her lips as she was rendered incoherent with pleasure._

_Strike slid up the bed and gathered her into arms, holding her close so he could stroke her mesmerising hair and cover her face with tiny kisses as the aftershocks of her orgasm subsided and her breathing returned to normal. When he opened his eyes a few minutes later she was looking at him with an expression of wonder on her glowing face. He smiled back at her, knowing full well he probably looked more than little smug too._

_“That was…,” she faltered, allowing her brain to catch up, “…definitely not ‘not my thing,’” she grinned._

_“Good,” he kissed her for what seemed like the millionth time that evening, and she pulled him against her. He groaned as he felt the delicious friction of her body against his groin and drew a shuddering breath as he felt her hands pushing at his boxers. Her fingertips curled loosely around his shaft and she began to stroke him, her movements agonisingly slow. She rubbed her thumb softly across his tip, feeling the moisture that had already escaped and a small sigh of arousal escaped her lips. Her movements were confident, and he couldn’t have guessed for a moment that she was even more shocked than he was by her reaction._

_“Do you have any…”_

_“I bloody hope so,” he checked the drawer of the bedside cabinet, and as he suspected his colleague, who frequently loaned his house out to visiting soldiers had left supplies. He tore open the foil package and swiftly rolled the condom into place but before he could position himself above her, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him. His surprise must have shown on his face, because she smiled nervously at him and asked, “Do you mind?”_

_He pulled her down and kissed her, long and slow, her hair forming a golden curtain around them. “Whatever you want.”_

_“You,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible, “I want you.”_

_He held on to her hips as she slowly lowered herself on to him, centimetre by centimetre, until she had taken his entire, not inconsiderable length inside her. They sat that way for several moments before she began to move, at first riding him slowly, leaning forward so he could kiss her mouth and breasts. Then she was moving faster, tilting backward, giving him the most glorious view of his rock-hard shaft sliding in and out of her centre, glistening with her juices. As they climbed higher and higher together, she found she couldn’t take her eyes off him, off the look of pure, unadulterated desire for her as he watched her with equal fascination, grinding her hips into his faster and faster, desperate to find the right angle for the release they both craved. He reached towards where they were joined together, found her clit and with a few firm strokes of his fingertip propelled her to a second shattering orgasm. The sensation of her slick walls spasming around his cock as she collapsed forward onto him was like heaven, and with just few slow, deep upward thrusts he relinquished all control, moaning her name over and over again as he came inside her._


	11. The Morning After the Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and Robin's wedding day.

**Robin, Masham 2011**

The car was waiting outside The Ellacott’s home now, a white Rolls Royce bedecked with ivory ribbon and cream and pale yellow flowers. Robin had watched it pull up from her bedroom window and thought that she should feel excited about the vehicle that was going to carry her off to her new life as Mrs Robin Venetia Cunliffe. As well as taking her to church, the car would carry her on to the wedding reception at Swinton Park, a wife with her handsome, young husband, bound by law and religious vows, clothed in an expensive dress, in a car fit for royalty. Yet all she could think about was how much she would rather be driving the Land Rover in her jeans whilst Cormoran fed her toffees as he’d done on their trip to Barrow just a few weeks earlier.

The nostalgia for her former business partner was cut short by a spasm of pain from her injured arm, bringing with it a torrent of unwanted and unpleasant memories of the last time she’d seen him. He’d fired her, in the most abrupt and conclusive way possible, “…quick and clean…gross misconduct” he’d said, before storming out of her flat, whilst Matthew watched, trying to remain impassive but she’d noticed the barely concealed smirk that threatened to betray his real feelings. Strike had made no attempt to contact her since, and she’d seen the advert he’d already placed for a new partner – Matthew had made sure of it. Applicants requested with military or police backgrounds. Someone completely unlike her.

“Bugger,” she whispered to herself, grabbing a handful of tissues to stem the tears that threatened to ruin her carefully and expensively applied make-up.

“Robin,” her Dad was calling her this time, “Car’s here, photographer wants a few shots with it before we leave, are you ready?”

_Am I?_

“Coming…”

He met her at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you ok love? You look like you’ve been crying?”

“Banged my arm on the dressing table,” she sniffed, the words tumbling out slightly too quickly.

Michael Ellacott rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “It’s not too late, you know, even now…”

But it was, she thought. She’d lost everything apart from Matthew – he was, once again, her life raft. All the arguments and recriminations between them over her job and look how it had ended. Gross misconduct. She’d stand by the moral reasons for her actions until the day she died, but maybe he was right after all. Maybe her reasoning made her weak, and that weakness made her a liability. It was irrelevant now anyway. She had no job to go back to and it wasn’t as if Strike was likely to give her a glowing reference. All she had left now was Matthew and their little flat in Ealing and his – their – plans for the future.

“I’m fine Dad,” she linked her good arm through his and picked her bouquet up from the hall table, “Let’s go.”

* * *

Hurtling ever closer to Masham, Strike was lost in thoughts of how Robin had slipped through his fingers last time.  
  
_**Strike, 2004**_

_He’d awoken from his post-coital slumber and reached for her, but the bed was empty. Pulling on his boxers he went to the window which overlooked the road in front of the cottage and saw that the Corsa had gone too, and sat back down on the bed, absently stroking the rumpled sheet on what had briefly been ‘her side’. Of course, it was never going to anything more than a one-off, they’d both been clear about that, but…in addition to the very pleasurable last couple of hours they’d spent together, he’d liked and respected her. Maybe it had occurred to him, however fleetingly, that they could exchange numbers, meet again sometime if he was ever back this way._

_He’d laughed at himself then for being such soppy twat, stripped the bed and put it on to wash before cracking open a beer and calling the local curry house for a takeaway._

_His resolve had been shattered the following morning, though, when on arriving at Leconfield to pick up his transport the airbase for his flight to Helmand, he’d bumped into Sergeant Julia Phillips, just returned from compassionate leave. _

_"Sergeant Strike,” she greeted him formally, being as they were not sufficiently well-acquainted for first names, “I’m glad I caught you. I just wanted to say thanks for covering my driving course last week, and well done. Had a call from the girl’s Dad on Friday afternoon. He really appreciated how you handled everything.” _

_Well there wasn’t really any handling required,” he replied, trying to ignore the thoughts of the handling of a very different nature that had gone on the previous evening, “Robin…Miss Ellacott is a bloody good driver.” _

_"But driving aside, the other issues…you obviously did really well to put her at ease. I was pretty convinced they’d cancel under the circumstances.”_

_Strike frowned, confused. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Phillips, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted._

_“The PTSD, panic attacks, it was on the booking notes. Her Dad was really concerned that there wouldn’t be anything triggering…” _

_I was roped in at the last minute, I never saw the booking notes. What happened to her?” _

_Julia sighed, and made a mental note to have words with the admin team about making bloody sure important information about future bookings was more thoroughly disseminated. “She was attacked, just over a year ago. He’d tried it a couple of times before, but her evidence was what got him put away at the beginning of the summer – rape and attempted murder. She got away by playing dead, so…” she continued, “…you can imagine that being in an enclosed vehicle with an unknown man could have been quite a challenge for her.”_

_She looked at Strike, whose face had drained of all colour whilst she'd been speaking. She knew he was probably remembering similar cases he’d dealt with during his time in the RMP, and she couldn’t blame him for being a bit taken aback. _ _"Strike...are you okay?” _

_"Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just need to check something at the office before I go. Hope your family’s ok now by the way.” _

_He’d headed off at speed to the admin block where he’d tracked down the member of staff responsible for booking civilian driving courses and requested contact details for Robin. They’d only had Michael Ellacott’s mobile phone number, and he’d paused before making a note of it. He could come up with a plausible professional reason for calling – to thank him for his feedback maybe, and then…take it from there. Maybe – hopefully - Robin might even answer the call. _

_**Robin, Masham 2004** _

_As Robin had suspected when she arrived home well after nine in the evening after her day out in Whitby, her brothers had barely registered her absence. They’d known their parents would be checking in and Robin had managed to get back in touch with her mother just in time to stop her contacting them in a panic. She’d used a combination of evasion and tenuous excuses to allay Linda’s concerns and promised to call and let her know when she was home safely. _

_Mum? Hi, just letting you know I’m back ok and I’ve put some petrol in the car.” _

_Oh, thank you sweetheart. I’m sorry I was a bit full on earlier, you know how much…” _

_"It’s fine,” Robin cut her short, not wanting another reminder of the reason for her mum’s hyper vigilance to detract from the Rubicon she had crossed earlier that evening._

_“How’s things there? Sounds like you and Dad are having a good time.” _

_"It’s a lovely place, Robin. Beautiful pub by the canalside,” she snorted, “Although not so great when your Dad’s had a few pints…” _

_"Oh bugger – he’s not fallen in has he?” _

_“No, but he’s managed to drop his mobile in there – they tried to fish it out but it was just too deep. You’ll have to call me if you need to get hold of him before we get back tomorrow. Thank God it’s just a cheap pay-as-you-go one.” _

_Robin laughed at the image of her dad, several pints down, lying on a canal side fishing for his ancient Nokia. _

_"Oh dear, well at least it wasn’t Dad that went in. I’m shattered so I’m going to turn in now. Night Mum.” _

_“Night love.” Robin was indeed shattered, but she lay awake for some time, her mind alternating between thoughts of Strike and Matthew, of pleasure and guilt. She loved Matthew and she wouldn’t be seeing Strike again, she rationalised. He had helped her past a seemingly insurmountable hurdle and now he was off to Afghanistan and she could move on with her life._

_She lay back, practised her CBT exercises and eventually drifted into a dreamless sleep._


	12. Nice Day for a White Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin walks down the aisle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've created a playlist to go with this fic, but can't share it straight from Spotify without blowing my anonymity which I'm not up for just at the moment! If you fancy a bit of musical scene setting though, this is my list.
> 
> Driven By You - Brian May  
Bad Love - Eric Clapton  
White Wedding - Billy Idol  
Should I Stay or Should I Go - The Clash  
Are You Gonna Go My Way - Lenny Kravitz  
All Right Now - Free  
Burnin' For You - Blue Oyster Cult (of course!)  
You Make My Dreams - Hall & Oates

**Masham 2011**

Strike was confident that they would make it to the church at least in time to see Robin leave it as Mrs Cunliffe. His heart sank at the thought, but he dismissed the sensation as thoroughly as he could. What had he been thinking? That he was going to burst through the doors at the ‘does anyone know any lawful impediment stage’ and banjax the whole thing? Ridiculous. Robin was an intelligent young woman and she’d made her decision. It was probably better that they got there towards the end of proceedings. He’d still have the chance to wish her well and maybe, just maybe persuade her to come back to work, that he still needed her – in an entirely professional capacity of course.

* * *

Robin stood outside the church with her parents. Her brothers were inside, fulfilling their roles as ushers, her Mum was fussing with her dress, hair and flowers whilst her Dad and the photographer waited patiently. Robin herself was stony faced. She loved her mum, but the flapping was driving her up the wall. She wanted this to be over – the people, the fretting and primping, the being the centre of attention. He skin prickled all over as if she had nettle rash, and she was trying desperately to convince herself that the sensation in her stomach was happy-nervous butterflies and not something more ominous. She caught her Dad’s eye briefly, and his words catapulted through her brain.

_It’s not too late, you know?_

But it was, wasn’t it? No-one really jilted their fiancé, their partner of nine years, at the altar. Think of the angry relatives, the wasted money – and not just theirs and their parents. All those people who had travelled and bought new outfits and booked hotels, not to mention the wedding presents that would have to be returned, and what the hell would they do about the honeymoon? Besides, they’d got through worse, her and Matthew. It would all be fine. They would be fine. She made her way into position between her parents, took a deep breath and mustered a smile for the photographer.

* * *

Robin made her way down the aisle on her father’s arm, clutching her bouquet so tightly in her right hand that the injured tendons in her forearm began to protest painfully. She was glad of the distraction from the many eyes watching her as she moved on smiling auto pilot towards Matthew, patiently waiting his dark suit, his face a picture not of happiness, she thought, but of something more akin to triumph and relief. She shook the thought from her mind. The vicar began by welcoming the congregation, and then the service began in earnest.

> Marriage is a gift of God in creation through which husband and wife may know the grace of God. It is given that as man and woman grow together in love and trust…

_Trust? _

> …in good times and in bad, may find strength, companionship and comfort…  
  


_Strength, companionship, comfort...Cormoran..._

> The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts…

Robin’s heart was thundering, and there were no butterflies just a rolling wave of nausea. Silver speckles scattered her peripheral vision. The vicar was addressing Matthew now.

> Matthew John Cunliffe, will you take Robin Venetia Ellacott to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?

“I will.”

“NO!”

Robin was momentarily as shocked as everyone else in the church at the sound of her own voice. Matthew was looking at her horrified…angry. She felt an overwhelming wave of panic wash over her.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, then turning to her parents, “I’m so, so sorry.”

After a split second’s pause, she ran as fast as she could back up the aisle where she wrenched the door open, knocking a tall vase of flowers flying in the process, and hurtled out through the church yard into the square. Instinctively she took a right turn, then went right again past the village primary school and down Millgate which quickly turned from a street of pretty, terraced cottages into a country lane. She just needed to get away for long enough to pull herself together without Matthew chasing after her, she thought, then she would go back and face the music.

She continued running for a few hundred metres, coming to stop at the Public Footpath sign where she leaned against an old stone wall, partially covered in grass and foliage. She was gasping for breath, a combination of running and panic, and her feet felt as though they were being sliced to ribbons in the cheap, low-heeled shoes that she’d bought to replace the Jimmy Choo’s that had ended up funding Angel and Zahara’s rescue from Brockbank.

What she wouldn’t give right now to be running from a wedding in London, she thought, where she could just hail a black cab. But there were no cars to be seen, just a small group of very bewildered ramblers and a huge motorbike & sidecar, which had flown past her a couple of seconds previously, almost throwing her into the hedge. She’d immediately recognised the growling, popping of the engine as that of a Harley Davidson, and almost cried at the irony.

Then she heard it again, the vehicle that had nearly deafened her was roaring closer, and now it was pulling over. The pillion rider pulling off their helmet as it slowed to a stop beside her.

“Robin?”

“Cormoran? What the hell…”

“Are you…have you?”

She bit her lip, “Done a runner, erm, yeah.”

She recognised the face behind the driver’s helmet. “Alright Shanker?” She couldn’t fail to notice that he was beaming from ear to ear.

“Where is she? Robin you little bitch…where are you?”

She’d expected to hear Matthew’s voice, but this was probably worse. His sister Kimberley was clearly on the warpath and approaching rapidly. Her eyes met Cormoran’s again, pleading.

He nodded in the direction of the sidecar, “There’s a spare helmet in there if you want a lift,” he grinned.

She didn’t need asking twice.


	13. Catch up and Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Shanker bring Robin up to date with their news about Laing and Brockbank before she returns home to face the music, where an unwelcome visitor is waiting.

Millgate was a winding country lane that ended in just that – countryside, so they had no choice but to turn the bike round and make their escape via the market square. Robin was hugely relieved that Matthew and her parents weren’t amongst the many guests outside the church grounds to see her speed past in the sidecar of a Harley Davidson ridden by two strange men, with her veil streaming out from beneath the edge of a battered black helmet. She did thoroughly enjoy the look on Kimberley’s face though.

They rode on for another twenty minutes to the neighbouring village of Snape, where they pulled up at the Castle Arms Inn, a godsend in having a car park to the rear, should the search for the runaway bride extend as far. Shanker swiftly dismounted on the premise of ‘needing a slash’, leaving Strike and Robin alone to extricate themselves from the bike. Between Strike’s prosthetic leg and Robin being crammed into the sidecar in her wedding dress, it wasn’t the most elegant procedure. Strike, suffering with his injuries and the long journey struggled off the bike and held it steady whilst trying to simultaneously help Robin out. He felt every twist and stretch in his bruised and battered body, but it was worth it to feel Robin’s hand in his as he pulled her to her feet and watched her remove her helmet, the scent of roses wafting past him as she shook her glorious hair loose.

Her eyes met his for a moment as she ran her hand over the seat of the Harley. “Interesting mode of transport...” she grinned, and for a split second his heart stopped as he thought they surely must be sharing the same memory.

They made their way to the bar where they ordered drinks and food – steak pie for Strike and battered cod for Shanker. Robin declined to eat, and they did their best to deflect the questioning of the barman and ignore the curious glances and offers of congratulations of other drinkers as they headed out to the beer garden.

“What are you doing here?” asked Robin, “And what happened to you?”

“Donald Laing ‘appened to 'im,” replied Shanker, before Strike got a word in edgeways.

“You caught him? When?”

“Yesterday evenin'…spent 'alf the night at Scotland Yard an' then he rings me at sparrow fart this mornin’ to get 'im up ‘ere.”

“Yes, thanks Shanker, I haven’t lost my ability to speak,” Strike glared at him.

“Awright, don’t get ya knickers in a twist,” he stood up, “I need to check in with my girls anyway, give us a shout if the food turns up,” and he headed off to the car park, mobile phone in hand. They both watched him go before returning to their drinks. Robin spoke first.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Neither did I, but then you didn’t answer my calls or messages and I know I said I'd leave you alone if you didn't reply, but...here I am. Just as well really, you wouldn’t have got very far if we hadn’t driven past when we did.”

She ignored his latter comment. “What calls and messages? I haven’t heard from you since the day you…the day you came to the flat.”

He heard the crack in her voice as she referred to the last conversation they'd had. “I’ve been texting and messaging you for the last three days. I made a mistake…”

“I didn’t get anything from you…” an image of Matthew with her phone at the service station flashed to the front of her mind. “Bloody Matthew…I’ll kill him!”

The food arrived and so did Shanker. They filled Robin in about the Laing situation as they ate, the men enjoying their meals, Robin enjoying a sizeable quantity of Strike’s enormous portion of chips, little realising he’d ordered extra knowing that she’d steal them from his plate once they were in front of her. He allowed himself a small, private smile at having judged the situation correctly. Robin knocked back the last of her white wine and turned to Strike, “Can I borrow your phone…mum’ll be going frantic, you know what she’s like…”

The words slipped out too easily. Of course, he knew her mum worried from their recent weeks working together, but with the memories from her journal fresh in her mind once again, another context occurred to her and she blushed furiously. He handed her the phone and watched her retreat to a table tucked away in the shade on the other side of the beer garden.

“’Ave you told ‘er you want ‘er back yet?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Fuck’s sake Bunsen…”

“She just ran out on her own wedding, give me a bloody chance.”

“That’s your problem mate, you think too much. Stop worrying about the timing and get on with it…” he paused, “…and I don’t just mean in the work department. Carpe diem and all that.”

Strike raised one eyebrow and gave him a weary look as Robin approached the table. She appeared exhausted now and Strike tried not to think about how much he’d like to just take her home to his flat, tuck her into his bed and hold her while she slept off the drama of the previous few days. She slumped onto the bench opposite and rubbed her eyes.

“Well, they’ve sent everyone on to Swinton Park for dinner – seems the least they can do after everyone’s made the effort to be there. Matt and his dad and sister have gone home. Mum’s going to leave Dad in charge, and I’ve said I’ll meet her back home in an hour to talk about what we need to sort out.”

“Right, we’ll give you a lift back,” said Strike getting to his feet, “C’mon Shanker.”

She looked at him apologetically. “You’ll have to just drop me off, I don’t think you being there when mum gets back will go down well.”

He smiled, “No worries. We need to get this beast back to the hire place and then head back to London anyway. Speaking of which, there’s still a job for you at Denmark Street if you want to come back?”

“Really?” Suddenly, and for the first time that day, Robin looked as radiant as one would expect a bride to look on her wedding day, despite her dishevelled hair and the tiny smear of ketchup just below the left corner of her bottom lip, which Strike longed to wipe gently away with his thumb.

“Really. That was why I was trying to get hold of you. I fucked up Robin, I’m sorry. The business needs you…,” he paused, “…and I know it’s a bloody cliché but I need you too. You’re much better at impersonating random Australians than I am for a start, and then there’s your driving skills, I definitely can't do without them...” he rolled his eyes at Shanker, who responded with a mumbled comment that sounded something like 'cheeky fucker'.

She was beaming up at him now. “I’ll need some time to sort things out here…and find somewhere to live but, if you can bear with me then I’d love to come back to work – the sooner the better.”

“Great, then let’s get you home. The quicker you get everything sorted, the quicker I get you back in the office!”

* * *

Tucked in the side-car, hurtling back towards her parent’s home, Robin couldn’t stop her mind whirring. There was so much to explain, so much to sort out – not least where she would live when she returned to London and how to go about getting her possessions from the flat she had shared with Matthew without some kind of godawful scene. Her mum hadn’t sounded angry, so that was a relief. To be honest, she hadn’t even sounded surprised at the day’s turn of events. A wave of guilt washed over Robin about the time, effort and money her parents had spent on the wedding, swiftly followed by a second one, guilt that she didn’t feel more guilty about what she’d done to Matthew. By the time they started up the country lane to her childhood home, she was feeling exhausted again and slightly nauseous. They pulled up at the side of the house, and Strike dismounted to help Robin out once again. The driveway was uneven and she tottered as she stepped out of the side-car, but Strike, who already had her hand in his from pulling her upright, quickly steadied her with large hand at her waist. Still wearing their helmets, neither of them immediately registered the crunch of gravel underfoot coming from the front of the house.

“Cormoran bloody Strike…I might have fucking known…” Matthew’s voice was venomous but unsteady. It sounded like he’d been drinking.

“Matthew…” but Robin had nothing else to say. Or rather, she had so much to say she didn’t know where to start, and her ex-fiance was storming towards them, fists clenched and a face like thunder.

“Go, Cormoran, I’m fine.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you alone with him in that state,” he replied, removing his helmet as if to confirm his intention of going absolutely nowhere.

“You’ll make things worse.” Strike knew she was probably right, but it wasn’t a choice on his part. He simply couldn’t have left her side, even if the sky was falling in. Robin, meanwhile, had decided that attack was the best form of defence.

“What did you do to my phone at the service station Matthew?” she asked coolly. He stopped in his tracks, a momentary flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out you’d deleted Cormoran’s messages and blocked his calls?” Suddenly a ball of anger welled up in Robin and let rip at Matthew. “Did you really think I was so stupid, so fucking incompetent as an investigator that I wouldn’t discover what you’d done? I bet you did, because honestly Matthew, that seems to be all you’ve thought of me ever since…”

“Well it’s just as well your one-legged knight in shining armour and his chavvy sidekick turned up then isn’t it?” he spat back. “What’s next? Riding off into the sunset to play detectives together? How long have you been fucking him, Robin, or perhaps it's the other one, or both? Who know what you're capable of these days?”

Strike watched Robin deflate in front of his eyes at Matthew’s crude words and couldn’t hold back anymore.

“That’s enough Cunliffe,” he said, taking a stride towards the younger man.

“Do you think? What the fuck’s it got to do with you?”

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, absolutely bugger all. You’ve managed to screw this one up on your own.”

Matthew ran at Strike, fists raised. On a good day Strike could have seen him off with one hand, but it was not a good a day and it was all he could do to muster the energy to assume a vaguely defensive position. Shanker was off the bike and halfway across the driveway, which, Strike thought briefly, was the last thing anyone needed as he was unlikely to stop at using his fists. None of them had reckoned on the intervention of a human tornado of ivory lace and rose petals. Robin flew in between the two men, shoving a drunken Matthew off balance, albeit not before he’d lashed out and, missing Strike entirely, landed a haphazard blow on Robin’s face, splitting her lower lip slightly in the process.

“Matthew Cunliffe what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Linda Ellacott’s voice rang out as she approached the house, and the sound of the woman he had known since childhood reprimanding him seemed to shock Matthew into stillness. Robin’s older brother, Stephen had accompanied their mother and was now running across the cobbled drive to restrain the man who had almost become his brother-in-law.

Raising four children and spending a lot of those years helping out in their schools had given Linda conflict resolution skills to rival any soldier or police officer, and she marched into the middle of the scene, silk outfit immaculate, feathered fascinator bobbing, and immediately took control of the situation. Strike had one arm curled protectively around Robin as she dabbed at her bleeding lip with the hanky he’d had in breast pocket of his suit. Linda prised her away, inspected the lip and dispatched her reluctant daughter into the house to apply ice.

“Stephen, get him in the car and take him home,” she nodded at Matthew, “And for God’s sake tell his father and Kimberley to make sure he stays there.”

Finally, she turned back to Strike, regarding him with exasperation that she wasn’t even attempting to hide. “You two need to leave…now.”

Strike nodded. “I’m sorry. This wasn't…”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. Now go,” she replied firmly, and she stood and watched and waited until she could no longer hear the growl and pop of the Harley’s engine in the distance.


	14. Heart to Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin confides in Linda, whilst Strike takes refuge with Nick and Ilsa.

Robin came downstairs to find Linda sat at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and two mugs. A bulging black bin liner in the corner of the room the only evidence of the wedding morning detritus that her mother had hastily cleared away whilst she’d been upstairs getting changed.

“Sit down, love. There’s no need to look so worried.”

Despite the stresses of the day and the inevitable aggravation that would no doubt follow, Linda couldn’t find it in herself to be upset or angry with her daughter. She poured tea for them both, adding two large sugars to both mugs, even though neither of them usually took any. Robin took her drink and curled her hands around it, grateful to have something to focus on.

“I’m sorry Mum. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Because of Sarah?”

“No…well, yes, a bit obviously,” she sighed, “Things haven’t been right with me and Matthew for a long time to be honest, not since…” she stopped herself, unable to offer any further explanation that wouldn’t sound unnecessarily incriminating.

“Not since you started working for Cormoran.”

Robin gave a small snort. She should have known her mum would see straight through her. “It’s not what you think Mum. I know him turning up today and me going off with him and Shanker and all of that must look…well, God knows what it must look like, but there’s nothing going on. At all.”

“So, it’s not Sarah, and it’s not Cormoran…although I think you’ll have a job convincing Matthew of that.”

“It’s me Mum, that’s all. It’s me. I’ve changed. Or rather I’ve changed back to who I’ve always been.”

Linda looked at her daughter fondly and sipped her tea. She could have told her that some time ago, but she’d hoped that it was something Matthew would have been able to accept. She’d known him since he was a little boy, watched him and Robin go through possibly the worst of challenges to their relationship and eventually move on with their lives together. He wasn’t perfect in her eyes, but in many ways she had come to think of him as a fourth son. In all honesty, the thought of Robin being on her own terrified her, especially if she was planning to head back to London and that job. She didn’t like herself very much for having such old-fashioned feelings about Robin’s job or her newly single status, and certainly knew better than voice them to her daughter, but only time would change that. She hoped.

“I can’t be what Matthew wants me to be…who he thought I was. After the attack it felt like I’d lost everything – who I was, my hopes for the future, for a career. I was terrified to make any decisions in case they went wrong and so I made my peace with the idea that Matthew and an office job and eventually two-point-four kids was what fate had meant for me. It was the safe, easy option and it allowed me to believe there was a reason for what happened.”

Robin saw her mum looking at her with blue-grey eyes that matched her own but were glistening with unshed tears as she relived the darkest days of her time as a mother.

“Then Temporary Solutions sent me to a tiny, crappy office in Soho to work for this grumpy, dishevelled, chain smoking bloke with half a leg missing, and everything changed. I realised I was still letting what happened dictate how my life was turning out, and over time I also realised that I didn’t have to keep doing that.”

“And these realisations really have nothing to do with Strike?”

"Well, not in the way everyone seems to think. He's been through something horrific too, and after he lost his leg he could have taken the easy option. The Army were desperate to keep him - he could have had a desk job, a decent salary, regular promotion, stability. But that wasn't what he was passionate about. Meeting him just proved to me that you don't have to let something awful happening to you determine the rest of your life."  
  
She took a sip of her tea, wincing slightly as the hot liquid stung her lip.

“Cormoran is the first person since I was nineteen years old who just sees me as Robin. He believes in me and trusts in my abilities and challenges me like no one else has,” she registered a sadness wash over her mother’s face, “I’m sorry. You know I love you and I understand it’s different for you. You’re my mum, you put me back together after…”

“Anyway, he’s protective - more than I'd like sometimes - but he never makes me feel weak or damaged or incompetent,” she was crying now – it hurt even to say those words - and paused to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her t-shirt, “Matthew…he did that a lot. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, especially where my job was concerned, because I knew he’d blame me and use it as a stick to beat me with if something went wrong. It reached a point where I was never quite sure if it was the job he hated or me having a mind of my own.”

“So, what now? You know you can stay here for as long as you need to sort yourself out and…”

“Cormoran’s offered me my job back. I’ll stay here and do whatever’s needed to sort out the wedding stuff, and I’ll try to pay you and dad back as much as I can when I’m able to, although it’ll be a slow process if I’m having to find a place in London.”

Robin saw Linda’s tight-lipped expression as she poured second mugs of tea for them both and reached for the biscuit tin. “I know you want to be there for me mum and I love you for that, but I need to get back to the life I’ve chosen for myself, not wallow in my bedroom again. It’s different this time.”

Linda thought of the brief glimpse she’d gotten of Robin’s old journal that morning, when she’d been sorting out her dress and accessories whilst the hairdresser and make-up artist had been working their magic at the kitchen table. She gave her daughter a watery but stoic smile and reached across to squeeze her hand. She felt even more as if she was letting her go now than she had when she’d watched her walk down the aisle on her father’s arm a few hours previously. “I know love…" she whispered, "I know.”

* * *

Strike and Shanker had arrived back in London late that evening to find Denmark Street besieged by reporters. Shanker simply kept driving, dropped Strike off in a nearby coffee shop, returned alone to pick up a bag of clothes and toiletries, then collected Strike and drove him across London to Nick and Ilsa’s place in Battersea.

By the time they arrived it was nearly midnight. Strike bade farewell to Shanker, assuring him he’d settle up with him for the day’s driving as soon as possible, and collapsed on the Herbert’s sofa, in grateful receipt of a bottle of Doom Bar, a couple of painkillers and an ashtray. “I’ll make an exception to the garden rule under the circumstances,” Ilsa smiled, taking in her old friend’s extensive injuries and utterly exhausted appearance.

He’d filled her in on the day’s events very briefly from the café while he’d waited for Shanker, and she was desperate for more details but could see he was in no fit state for questioning. Instead they passed the time with small talk until Strike had finished his beer, when they all turned in for the night. Strike was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, blissfully oblivious to his worried friends discussing him in a whisper in the bedroom next door.

* * *

When Strike woke at nearly midday it took a few moments to place his surroundings. In addition to the brief wave of confusion, every single injury he’d gained at the hands of Laing was tender and he ached all over from the previous day’s travelling. On the upside, he was staying with his best friends and the smell of coffee and bacon was wafting temptingly up the stairs.

“You look rough,” said Ilsa affectionately as he plonked himself down at the kitchen table.

“Thanks. Nick at work?”

“Yeah, going to be a late one again.”

“Sorry, last thing you needed was me turning up last night.”

“It’s fine, you know you’re always welcome here. There’s no way you could’ve stayed at the flat,” she paused, joining him at the table with a plate of bacon rolls and a cafetière, “…so what’s happening with you and Robin?”

He reached for the coffee and poured himself a mug full, carefully avoiding Ilsa’s eye and her question.

“Corm?”

“Nothing,” he said firmly, trying to both convince himself and ensure there was no edge of disappointment in his tone. “She decided she couldn’t go through with marrying Matthew and she’s coming back to work when everything’s sorted up there and she’s found somewhere to live.”

“But why?”

Strike frowned. “Because she needs a job and for some bizarre reason she likes working with me enough to forgive me for being a dickhead and firing her,” he offered.

Ilsa sighed. “Stop being obtuse, I mean why did she decide not to go through with the wedding? That’s a massive thing to do – leave your intended at the altar.”

“Honestly Ils, I don’t know. We didn’t have a massive heart to heart about it. She found out a few weeks ago that he cheated on her…”

“Bastard!”

“It was years ago but…well, the timing was complicated. It wouldn’t be fair of me to say any more than that. She thought she could get past it, but I guess she realised at the last minute that she couldn’t after all.”

There was several minutes silence whilst they ate their rolls and drank their coffee. Ilsa now realised that when Robin had come around to pick Strike up and sample Nick’s legendary hangover cure a few weeks ago, she must have just found out about Matthew’s infidelity. She’d noticed then how concerned Strike had been for her and put it down to him generally being a nice guy and a bit protective of the women in his life. Then she’d caught him looking at Robin on a couple of occasions in a way that had given her an underlying feeling that there might be slightly more to it than him being a dutiful employer and concerned friend. She weighed her next question carefully.

“How do you feel about her coming back to work for you as a single woman?”

Strike’s eyebrows shot up. He'd suspected Ilsa was thinking along those lines but hadn’t anticipated her confronting him with the idea out loud. “Her marital status makes no difference to her ability to do the job,” he replied, carefully. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. Matthew was a prize tit who hated her working with me. I imagine him being out of the picture will make life a bit easier…”

…and harder, he thought. That sapphire ring had acted like a force field, effectively repelling any disconcerting thoughts he might have had about his partner. He knew from its brief removal a few weeks ago what the effect of it being permanently absent might be on his equilibrium but squashed the thought firmly to the back of his mind.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She looked at him over the rim of her glasses which had slipped down her nose slightly during the conversation.

He sighed. “Ilsa, we are business partners. She’s just left her fiancé after nine years together. I’m an overweight chain-smoker, ten years her senior with a half a leg missing and a business that’s in serious danger of going down the pan…”

“None of which tells me how you feel.”

“I feel,” he replied, his voice thick with frustration, “That you should stop emotionally investing in something that clearly isn’t going to happen…and show me where you’re hiding the bacon so I can make us another round.” He grinned, hopeful as much of distracting her as he was of another bacon roll.

Ilsa huffed, shook her head and made her way over to the fridge.


	15. Moving on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving on from the wedding-that-never-was...

The day after the-wedding-that-never-was, Robin met with Matthew again. He was sober this time and her family were in the next room, just in case. There was anger and tears and recriminations, and eventually, a resolution of sorts. Matthew would go on their two-week honeymoon with his widowed father and Robin would spend the following week in Masham, returning wedding gifts and dealing with any other admin necessary with the help of her family. She would then return to London, find alternative accommodation and move her possessions out of the flat before Matthew’s return.

As they had already been living together, many of the wedding guests had gifted them cash which was simple to return along with an apologetic note, and between that and Robin’s usual efficiency, she had relatively little to do, and far too much time to think. She spent a lot of time walking Rowntree and thinking, or more frequently, trying not to think, about Cormoran, and when she’d driven herself mad doing that, she took herself to her uncle’s farm and rode his quad bike through the fields and woodland until she was exhausted.

She was in daily contact with Strike, as he checked in on how she was doing and kept her updated on all the enquiries that were coming in thanks to the positive publicity that had come with the end of the Shacklewell Ripper case. He’d also enlisted the help of Nick and Ilsa with regards to Robin’s housing predicament. By the end of the week the reporters had largely given up their stakeout of Denmark Street and he was able to return home, freeing up the Herbert’s spare room for Robin until she was able to move into a shared flat with one of the junior doctors that worked with Nick.

When Robin returned to work the following Monday, the atmosphere at Denmark Street was briefly thick with unspoken words and feelings suppressed, but it took only a day or two of sifting through potential new cases together and laughing at the latest contenders for the ‘nutter drawer’ for the tension to dissipate. Robin packed up her personal possessions from the flat, and with little space in Nick and Ilsa’s spare room, they sat in boxes on the landing at the office, where Strike’s belongings had also once lived in the aftermath of his break up with Charlotte.

Every day, Strike found his eye drawn to the space on Robin’s finger where her engagement ring had once sat, almost as if, even now, he half expected it to suddenly reappear again. Every evening he passed her boxes on the way to his flat, and every night he lay in bed wondering if he was imagining the subtle charge that seemed to be present in their interactions. If it was the result of all the drama of the previous couple of months, or if it was something more. And if it was something more, what could he realistically do about it, and when? Invariably he would fall into a contented sleep having resolved that a relationship between them wouldn’t be impossible once the dust had settled, then wake up the following day with a lurching feeling of dread in his stomach and an absolute certainty that any attempt at changing the status quo would end in complete disaster.

Robin settled in well with Nick and Ilsa. She’d been incredibly nervous at the thought of having to house share with strangers so being able to do so with friends first had reduced her anxiety considerably. She was also hugely grateful for Nick recommending her to one of his colleagues who was looking for a flatmate, unaware that Cormoran had specifically requested that both his friends ask around at work in case anyone knew of something suitable. It was as much for himself as for Robin. He didn’t know her new flatmate personally, but the fact that Nick did gave him some peace of mind and helped assuage his guilt that if only he could increase her salary she would have more options.

Meanwhile, Robin threw herself into work, determined to play an equal part in rebuilding the business. She often arrived early and invariably stayed late, the long hours punctuated by shared sandwich lunches on the farting sofa, and rounded off, not infrequently, with after work trips to the Tottenham, which were considerably more enjoyable now that she didn’t have to worry about Matthew brooding at home.

Still neither of them mentioned the look that had passed between them over the Harley Davidson in the pub car park on her wedding day. Although both recalled it often, neither could be sure whether the other did the same, or if there was simply a tacit understanding between them that there was a time and place to open a Pandora’s box of that magnitude and they had not yet reached it.

When Robin retired to the Herbert’s spare bedroom each evening, she found it impossible not to think of all the times Strike had stayed in the same room, the same bed. Sometimes she imagined his scent in the room – woody shower gel, strong tea and cigarettes. Occasionally, when she’d had a few drinks, and strictly only when she knew she wouldn’t have to face him the following day, she would re-read the old journal that she had brought back with her from Masham and allow her mind to wander to a place that both thrilled and terrified her.

She rarely thought of Matthew, who seemed to belong to another life now, and in a way, he did.


	16. The Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin moves into her new home and Strike visits to wish her well.

Five weeks after returning to London and the Herbert’s spare room, Robin was preparing to move into her new flat share. Two of Nick’s colleague’s, both junior doctors in their mid-twenties had shared the modest apartment in East Finchley, but one was now moving to Liverpool to continue their specialism in paediatrics. Robin had met her new flatmate, Dr Sophie Williams, on a few occasions since she’d agreed to move in and it promised to be a successful living arrangement, but as much as she was looking forward to moving in, she couldn’t help feel a bit down about the timing. Sophie was on holiday, so Robin had looked forward to spending the day settling in with the help of Strike and the Herberts and then celebrating her fresh start with them in the evening. First Nick had been called in to work, then Ilsa’s mum and sister had announced a surprise visit for the same day complete with matinee theatre tickets and afternoon tea already booked and paid for. Robin was still deliberating how she felt about it just being her and Strike for the day, when their newest client called in to update them on his end of the case and it became apparent that he would be needed on surveillance for an indefinite chunk of Saturday afternoon and evening. Coming so soon after the near catastrophic effect of the Shacklewell Ripper case, they simply couldn’t afford to turn down any business, however inconvenient.

In the end Robin had driven to work on Friday, paying extortionate parking fees so that she could bring the Land Rover to Denmark Street at the end of the day and, with Strike’s help, load up her boxes from the landing. Her possessions at Octavia Street comprised just a couple of Ikea bags and a large suitcase, which stood in her room ready to be thrown in the back of the car.

Saturday morning dawned with air as thick as treacle and a yellow-grey sky that held the promise of a thunderstorm at some point. Ilsa, feeling guilty that she couldn’t be on hand to provide more help, cooked a celebratory breakfast of Eggs Royale after she’d helped Robin load up the last few items.

“I’m really sorry I can’t be around to help much today,” she apologised sincerely, as she sat down at the kitchen table.

“It’s okay,” replied Robin. “It’s not as if I’ve got that much to move at least,” she raised a slightly wobbly smile. “Don’t forget though – curry night at mine next Friday. Sophie’s still away so we can have a proper housewarming then.”

Fuelled by caffeine, carbs and an affectionate hug from her friend, Robin set off for her new home.

* * *

By two o’clock Robin had unloaded her possessions into the flat. It was a ground floor apartment in a converted Victorian semi, which made life a lot easier and had the benefit of a small garden and off road parking for the Land Rover as Sophie didn’t drive. The storm had broken as she’d unloaded the last few boxes but she’d carried on regardless and was soaked through by the time the she finally shut the door. She decided to leave the unpacking of anything non-essential until the following day and opted instead for a hot shower, after which she curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed her journal sticking out of one of the bags she’d brought from Nick and Ilsa’s. She had purposely avoiding looking at it for the previous couple of weeks as she tried to make sense of her feelings for her business partner – it’s recollections from long ago muddying the waters far too much to be in any way helpful. But now, alone in her new home, with the torrential rain reminding her all too vividly of their dash back from the pub several years previously, she gave in to temptation to relive that week once again. She didn’t get far however, before she fell asleep, the small book slipping from her lap to the floor as she sunk back into the sofa cushions.

* * *

Robin was woken from her slumber later that afternoon by the persistent ringing of the doorbell. Bleary eyed she made her way through the flat to open the door, to be greeted by a large pink and white bouquet, which instantly reminded her of the flowers they'd used in a reconstruction of their first case together. Accepting it from the delivery driver she went inside to open the card, unable to suppress the sensation of butterflies in her stomach.

Wishing you all the very best in your new home and looking forward to celebrating with you soon. Lots of love, Ilsa and Nick xx

Touched, but a little deflated, she rummaged through the kitchen cupboards to find a suitable receptacle for the flowers, eventually conceding defeat and splitting them between the only vase in the flat and a pint glass, before heading back to the sofa with a pile of takeaway menus from the kitchen noticeboard to decide what she fancied to eat.

* * *

Several miles across London, Strike’s surveillance job had been called off. A family emergency had sent the suspected unfaithful wife he was following scuttling home and Strike had arrived back at Denmark Street drenched and sore, albeit happier that he was going to get an unexpected night off. He removed his wet clothes and his prosthetic and navigated his way to the shower, where he let the warm water soothe his aching body whilst he wondered idly how Robin was getting on and resolved to call her once he was out and dressed. Twenty minutes later, he sat down in his armchair with a beer and reached for his mobile. Then he caught sight of the pale blue gift bag on one of the chairs at the kitchen table and thought better of it. Instead he reattached his prosthesis and made his way back out in the direction of Tottenham Court Road tube.

* * *

Robin was peering out of the sitting room window at the front of the house, admiring the spectacular rainbow that had appeared by way of a grand finale to the afternoon’s storms, when much to her surprise she saw a familiar figure, walking slightly unevenly up the path. “You’re supposed to be on surveillance,” she reprimanded him as she opened the door and ushered him in, beaming with pleasure at her unexpected visitor.

“Got called off, their kid ended up in A & E with a broken arm which rather put paid to the wife’s plans,” he raised his eyebrows with a smirk and held out the gift bag. “It’s just a few bits to make your new home feel more like, well, home,” he smiled.

Inside were teabags and fat rascals from Betty’s tearooms, an I ‘heart’ Yorkshire mug that matched his own I ‘heart’ Cornwall one back at the office, a coaster with a watercolour picture of a robin on it, a bottle of her favourite wine and a pretty scented candle – also made in Yorkshire.

“I love it! Thank you so much,” she exclaimed and leaned over to plant a kiss on his bristly cheek. It was a brief, spur of the moment gesture that resulted in an instant charge in the atmosphere, reflecting the now distant storm. She felt her cheeks flush and noticed that he seemed to be struggling to meet her eye.

“So, um...” stammered Robin, “Have you eaten yet? I was thinking of popping out for fish and chips if you fancy joining me?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, I’ll go if you like?”

“It’s fine, you’ve only just got here. Why don’t you pop a couple of plates in the oven to warm up and make yourself a cuppa. I won’t be long.”

And she was out the door almost before he could object.

* * *

Whilst Robin headed up the road to the nearby chippy, detouring swiftly en-route to pick up a couple of bottles of Doom Bar for Strike in the local convenience store, he found his way around the kitchen, putting plates in to warm as requested and setting the little dining table with cutlery before heading back to the sitting room with his tea.

As he turned to sit down his foot met an unfamiliar texture which caused him to slip slightly. Cursing under his breath he reached down to retrieve the offending object – a slim, grey leather book with a semi colon and the initials ‘RVE’ embossed on the front in gold. He sat down and looked at it curiously. He knew the semi-colon had become a symbol of recovery for those who had battled depression and other mental health issues, and of course he knew about Robin’s past.

He wondered whether the contents harked back to that time, and if so, why she’d been revisiting it. Or perhaps what lay inside related to more recent events? He felt an initial surge of anger at Matthew which was swiftly replaced with guilt and sadness. It was, after all, working for him that had seen her knifed by Laing and then barely escaping Brockbank. He traced the delicate metallic embossing with his large fingers as he struggled to get a grip on the multitude of feelings that were suddenly coursing through him, so engrossed that he was unaware of the blue-grey eyes watching him from the doorway.

“Cormoran,” said Robin, quietly, “What are you doing?”


	17. On the Same Page

He turned to meet her eyes, his own wide with shock. “It was on the floor, I nearly slipped on it,” his words rushed out, “I haven’t looked inside, I promise.”

She took a deep breath and made her way across the room, taking the journal from his hands and sitting down next to him. His heart was thundering in his chest. “It wouldn’t matter if you had,” she said softly. “There are no secrets in here…and you are on every page.”

She saw the confused expression cross his face and went on to explain. “I had this for my twentieth birthday, along with a military driver training course,” her eyes met his briefly, “But you know about that present. I only ever wrote in here for that one week. See for yourself.”

She opened the book and handed it to him, watching from beneath long, golden eyelashes as he flicked through the pages, drinking in his changing expressions as he relived that long-ago week. On reaching Friday’s entry he paused, knowing that what came next was Saturday…and Saturday evening.

“I never wrote about the Saturday,” she took the book from his hands and placed it on the coffee table. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t really find the words…”

Strike swallowed hard and chewed his lip. “I tried to contact you afterwards. I saw Julia – the woman who was supposed to be teaching you – the following day and she told me about…what you’d been through. I had no idea on that Saturday, I would never have gone there…”

“…and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” she reached out tentatively and took his hand. He noticed her own was shaking significantly. “Cormoran, that night you gave me something no-one else could have given me. When you looked at me I saw respect and desire in your eyes and that was exactly what I needed at that point in my recovery.”

“And I assume you weren’t getting that from Matthew?”

“We still weren’t sleeping together at that point. We’d tried but whenever it came down to it all I could see in his face was pity and fear, and guilt. Ironically, I put it down to him feeling like he’d been unable to protect me at the time, but obviously now I know it was a different kind of guilt altogether.”

Strike removed his hand from her grasp and rubbed it across his face. He let out a hefty sigh. “I’m not entirely sure how I feel about being partially responsible for resurrecting your sex life with that twat,” he murmured drily.

She wrinkled her nose, “I know it doesn’t sound great when you put it like that, but…”

“But?” He looked directly at her, eyebrows raised above his huge green eyes in a way that had regularly made her stomach flip for longer now than she cared to try and remember.

“It was more than that for me, in a way. I knew neither of us were in a position for it to go any further, so it seemed safe on both sides, but I genuinely felt a connection with you. Beyond the fact you looked smoking hot in those leather trousers, I mean. I couldn’t have gone there otherwise.”

He smiled at her sadly, his head tilted to one side. “I tried to get in touch with you. I got your dad’s mobile number from the office before I left for Helmand, but it just answered as no service. If I’d managed to get in contact…” his voice tailed off, his expression wistful.

“My dad’s mobile…” Robin thought for a moment, then laughed. “He dropped it in a canal that weekend. New phone, new number.”

“Shit! We don’t have a lot of luck with phones do we?”

“Cormoran, why did you never say anything when I started working for you? You must have realised? I did.”

“So why didn’t you say anything? You’d obviously moved on and were happy and newly engaged. I was a train wreck. It seemed irrelevant at the time. And I didn't want to bring up anything painful about that time.”

“And you were so closed off, and my boss. It would have been inappropriate to bring it up and by the time things changed, it seemed…dangerous.”

“By the time things changed?” He took a chance and guessed, “Barrow?”

“Probably before then, but that was when I realised. Matthew’s parting shot when I left was that we would be over for good if I slept with you. And I hadn’t let myself think about it for years, but I lay in bed at the Travelodge that night with you five doors away and…I don’t know how I actually managed to sleep.”

“And I knocked on your door to tell you about Wardle getting in touch. I felt so bloody awkward doing that - it's such a cliche.” Strike failed to suppress a chuckle.

“Yep, another five or ten minutes and that could’ve ended very differently.”

“Miss Ellacott, are you saying you’d have dragged me into your room and had your wicked way with me?”

She was blushing furiously and unable to meet his eyes, but he could see that she was smiling. “Maybe…are you saying you’d have let me?”

There was pause. So much water under the bridge, so many missed opportunities to be together. Perhaps it was fate’s way of telling them that despite their feelings for one another they simply weren’t meant to be. But here they were nonetheless.

“If you felt like that, why the hell did you get back together with Matthew?”

“Because there was no indication you felt the same, and there was so much history there. Then you went off on one about Brockbank and told me we were finished. I’ve never seen you so angry. I was heartbroken. He was all I had left, which is not a good reason to marry someone – or nearly marry someone, I know…”

“Robin,” Strike turned towards her on the sofa and took both her hands in his, “I wasn’t angry with you. I was angry with myself for letting you put yourself in that situation. I knew what that case meant to you and if I’d have really listened instead of being preoccupied with Whittaker I might have been there whether to back you up or talk you out of it. And I was terrified.”

She employed the tactic she’d learned from Strike himself, stay silent and they’ll keep talking.

“I was terrified I’d lose you…really lose you, irrevocably,” he couldn’t bring himself to say the actual words. “It was Barrow for me too,” he added simply.

Robin’s stomach was churning. That, she thought to herself, is what happy-nervous butterflies really feel like. Her voice was barely a murmur.

“And now?”

He stroked a strand of hair back from her face and cupped her cheek in his hand.

“And now…and tomorrow… and next week, and for as long as you’ll have me, but only if you’re sure you’re ready and that it’s what you really want. I’ve no desire to be your ‘transitional person’”.

_Fucks sake_, he thought to himself ruefully,_ I can’t believe I’m quoting ‘When Harry met Sally’. _

“Cormoran,” she smiled, covering his hand with her own and turning her head slightly to drop a soft kiss into his palm, “The only transitioning I’m thinking about is from here to the bedroom.” She gripped his hand and stood, pulling him to his feet beside her. He pulled her to him wrapping his arms tightly around her and dropping a kiss on to her golden head as he breathed her in.

“I love you Robin Ellacott.”

He felt her smile into his chest, just where the top two buttons were undone.

“I love you too Cormoran Strike.”

And they headed to the bedroom, leaving the fish and chips to go cold on the kitchen table.


End file.
